But Will It Stay
by flashymom
Summary: Sequel to "It Always Comes Back". Bobby Goren and Amy Wainwright continue to reacquaint themselves with each other. A sinister figure threatens to undermine Bobby's newly discovered family.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is the sequel to "It Always Comes Back" and is the continuing story of Detective Robert Goren and Amy Wainwright. We pick up where the last story left off. You needn't have read the first story to understand and enjoy this one, but I hope, if you haven't, you'll go back and read it. A huge thank you goes out to my betas, tcif and ciaddict, and to judyg who has offered her advice, assitance and feedback on various ideas. As always, tuda (the usual disclaimers apply)!_

**Chapter 1**

When Amelia Wainwright died in 1985, her husband, Adam Jefferson Wainwright, Sr., founded the Wainwright Galleries at her request as a legacy to her great love of art. Adam ran the gallery for 10 years, before turning over its management to his son and daughter-in-law, AJ and Patty Wainwright.

When Adam died in 1997, at the age of 90, he bequeathed his winery, Wainwright Estates, and half of his great wealth to his only grandchild, Amelia Marie Wainwright, Amy. The rest of his money went partly to AJ and Patty, but mostly into the formation of the Wainwright Trust, a charitable institution known for its support of the arts, education, and humanitarian efforts world-wide. AJ, Patty and Amy ran the trust by themselves for the first three years, then, in a bold move, named two additional board members, including a new director, from outside of the family. They also opened the trust up to receive financial contributions and changed the name to the Wainwright Public Trust. Today, the trust gives millions of dollars each year to deserving organizations.

At the time of her brutal murder at the hands of James Murphy several weeks ago, Laura Edwards Wainwright, wife of Adam Jefferson Wainwright, III, "Trey", was poised to take over as director of operations for the Trust. Her passion for the mission of the trust was contagious, and from the moment she came on board, she re-energized the Trust and broadened its scope. Her death was felt deeply among the employees and board members of the Trust and everyone wondered who would take over in her place.

The most logical choice would be to put the control back into the hands of the family by naming Trey as the new director. But, Trey's heart has never been in the day-to-day operations of the Trust, managing the funds or slogging through all of the applications to determine who would receive monies that year. No, his heart is with the winery. Growing up right along with the winery, learning about grapes before he could walk and fermentation processes before he could talk, wine-making is his life's blood. However, he relished his wife's enthusiasm and pride in her work with the WPT and her death has left him torn. Should he stay with the winery he loves, or pick up her mantle and continue her work with the Trust?

Trey is also in another quandary: he recently met his father, Detective Robert Goren of the NYPD's Major Case Squad. A tall, graceful man with a quiet, almost shy manner and a heart of gold, Detective Goren had Trey picked up and brought in and almost arrested in suspicion of Laura's murder. Now Trey is torn between his growing affection for the father he never knew and his love for the mother who couldn't bring herself to tell him who he was.

Detective Robert Goren, Bobby, finds himself in a similar quandary as well. He still has feelings for Amy and still loves her, although he's not quite sure just how strong those feelings are. He does know that he's not going to let her get away from him this time, even if they just end up as very good life-long friends. They are family now, married or not. He's also enjoying getting to know Trey and relishing the time he gets to spend with his grandson, Hudson. Bobby finds himself torn between his desire to get to know the family he never knew he had, and the demands of the dysfunctional family he wishes he had never known.

And now, we come to Amy. She's not too sure she likes having Bobby around to compete for Trey's time and affection. She, too, still has feelings for Bobby and is not yet sure how strong those feelings are either. Seeing Bobby again has brought back all the feelings of love, guilt, fear and shame she went through twenty-five years ago when she first found out she was pregnant. She's getting used to the fact that, like it or not, she brought all this on herself and now has to live with the chaotic consequences upsetting her normally ordered life. The life which she had purposefully ordered so as NOT to have to feel or deal with those emotions.

Now, why do I go into such detail? For two reasons. Firstly, as an introduction to any reader who has not read the first part of this story, "It Always Comes Back", and secondly, because all this background information will come in handy later on in our story.

After Bobby left Amy Sunday evening, promising to call her on Tuesday to set up a lunch date, our dear, sweet, befuddled Amy floated down the hall and all the way back to her house. She tried to tell herself she was silly to feel like she was 21 again, but realized she couldn't help it and discovered, somewhat to her amazement, that she quite liked feeling this way. She hadn't felt this way in a long time, and the feelings carried her through her nightly routine and eased her into sleep.

Amy soon found herself deeply immersed in all the last minute details involving her upcoming trip to Indonesia with Trey. They were going to discuss distribution contracts with a large food and beverage distributorship based in Jakarta. Trey and Amy spent a very busy week finalizing reservations, choosing and packing wines, and preparing contracts. Bobby did call on Tuesday as he had promised, and as she had predicted, they would have to settle for a quick lunch rather than a longer evening out. But time together is time together and they both enjoyed their too short meal spent at a small deli around the corner from the winery's New York City office.

Amy and Trey had a very successful two weeks in Indonesia. The distributors were more than pleased with the wine samples and asked to be allowed to distribute more than was originally planned. Amy was thrilled when the final contract proved to be even more lucrative for all parties involved than what the original estimates had indicated. The success of the Wainwright Estates label in the US was translating into success worldwide, as American tourists were asking for Wainwright labels on their overseas travels. Buoyed by the outcome, Amy was excitedly looking forward to a reunion with Bobby and showering her family with gifts from Indonesia.

Upon her arrival home, Amy was immediately set upon by a mountain of mail. She painstakingly slogged her way through the stack, carefully sorting junk mail from personal mail from bills and even the occasional business letter that found its way to her door instead of the winery office. A letter addressed to the Wainwright Public Trust caught her eye and held her attention. It was very rare to have such mail addressed to her home, but it did happen from time to time, especially when it involved an invitation to an event hosted by a previous grant recipient. Assuming this was such a letter, Amy was stunned to open the letter and read the following:

_Dear Ms. Wainwright,_

_I am writing to you concerning your appalling disrespect of the needs of minority organizations. Your Trust's consistent awarding of high dollar grants to predominantly white-run groups leads me to believe that you are an ignorant, racist bitch who should not be allowed to have so much money at her disposal._

_If you don't start awarding more grants to minority groups, you will face serious consequences._

Amy was shaken by the letter. She was used to receiving hate mail from groups that had been denied monies from the trust, but never one so forceful. Who could be threatening her and why? She set the letter aside for Trey to look at later. Amy took several deep calming breaths and went back to the task of sorting through the rest of her mail.

And what about Bobby? Well, Monday morning found him slogging through paperwork, the bane of police work, and his least favorite part of the job. Thankfully, he had a new treasured item on his desk to make him smile through the worst: a picture frame. This was the kind of frame that had two frames hinged together and could fold shut if needed. It was a modest brushed copper, and held two photographs which Bobby thought were absolutely beautiful. One was of himself, sitting shoeless in a sandbox in his blue dress shirt; tie still on and sleeves rolled up, with a goofy expression on his face while Hudson drove a toy truck across the top of his head.

The other was of Bobby sitting on a sofa with Hudson on his lap. He had been tickling the little boy and Hudson's back was arched over Bobby's left arm, his lime green casted arm flung out wide, face full of laughter. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was wide open, and Bobby could still hear the child's laughter ringing in his ears when he looked at the photo. Bobby's right hand was on Hudson's tummy, tickling the patch of skin revealed where the boy's shirt rode up. Bobby's face was almost in profile, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd ever had such a look on his face. He saw his own eyes dancing with laughter and joy, and his mouth in a wide open smile. He had been laughing along with Hudson and Trey had captured the moment perfectly. He had given Bobby the pictures during their time in the park the day before, and Bobby took great pride in finding just the right place for it on his desk.

Eames noticed the photos when she arrived an hour later, but said nothing. Bobby handed the pictures to her, and she handed him a cup of coffee, fixed just how he liked it. She carefully studied the two pictures, looked at Bobby and smiled. They exchanged one of their knowing looks, (when one has worked with someone as long as they have worked with each other, words are no longer necessary) and Eames gently placed the frame back on Bobby's desk with a small nod.

He had called Amy on Tuesday and was disappointed to discover that her prediction about her availability was correct. However, he was amenable to a quick lunch on Thursday at a small deli around the corner from her office. He listened as she told him about the plans for the trip, smiling at her excitement over the possibilities this new distribution deal could bring to the winery. Amy sympathized as he moaned about the paperwork that had taken two days to finish. Lunch was over way too soon and they promised to find time for a longer evening out after Amy returned from Indonesia.

Before going their separate ways, Amy slipped Bobby a small piece of paper with her private cell phone number and her email address on it, asking Bobby to keep in touch during her absence. Bobby was deeply touched by such a personal gesture on Amy's part, as it meant that she really was trying to mend their relationship.

Bobby had so wanted to be at the airport to see Trey and Amy off on their trip, but a call for the Major Case Squad came in on Friday and a disappointed Bobby had to call Amy and tell her goodbye over the phone instead. Amy was disappointed, but understanding; after all, she was well aware of the demands on a cop's time, it was similar to the demands on her father's time during his service in the Army. But telephone goodbyes are never as good as personal goodbyes, and each was saddened by the interference of Bobby's work on their plans.

Sunday found Bobby lunching with AJ and Patty Wainwright. Patty had surprised Bobby by calling him on Saturday afternoon and extending the invitation. Not wanting to sit around by himself moping over Amy's absence, Bobby readily agreed. He had enjoyed many a Sunday dinner with the Wainwright's when he was dating Amy, and he looked forward to the chance to get caught up with them after all this time. Hudson and Christy joined them for lunch as well, and Bobby even convinced Mrs. Mitchell to sit down and eat with them in the dining room instead of off by herself in the kitchen. This led to several delightful hours of conversation and story-telling and Bobby learned more about Amy and Trey's life over the past twenty-five years.

Bobby didn't have time to make his usual Sunday trip to the cemetery. It was nearly dark when he left the Wainwrights, and he realized it would be more prudent to stop by the store for fresh milk than to visit a cemetery in the dark. Upon arriving at home, he called Amy to see how their trip over had gone. He extended greetings from her family, and, sensing she was very tired from the long flight, agreed that they should talk again in a few days.

When Bobby woke up on Monday morning, the phone was ringing. It was Eames, calling to tell him that the police had finally arrested the key suspect in one of their current cases, and would be bringing him in for questioning later that morning. They needed to get into the office early to prepare, as this was another horrific case and the questioning would be intense and grueling.

Eames was right. No amount of preparation could have prepared them for the intensity of the interrogation or the horror of the suspect's answers. By the time they were finished that afternoon, the DA had a solid case for Man 1 and the death penalty. The case was closed, but it wasn't satisfying.

Eames had picked up on his unusually black mood and called him on it at lunch. He revealed to her that it was his mother's birthday. Eames immediately understood the cause of his moodiness and the harshness of the attitude he'd been using in the interrogation room. She insisted he leave as soon as they were done, telling him that she would take care of the paperwork. It would do him good to go to the cemetery, and do her good not to have him around.

By the time Bobby had reached his mother's grave, the weather had turned and the sky was now as grey as his mood. His mood was always grey when he visited her grave; it's hard to be happy in a cemetery.

He stared numbly at her headstone. So much had happened to him over the past several weeks and he didn't know where to start. He realized he missed her dearly, in spite of the hardships of mental illness, cancer and divorce and the stress that had put on their relationship.

He was glad she was free from the demons of schizophrenia and the pain of lymphoma, but he deeply missed the good moments they'd shared together. He could still hear her laughing during a raucous game of cards on a lucid day and picture her smile as she told him stories about the photos in one of her many albums she kept in her room. He did not miss the battles and struggles that occurred whenever the schizophrenia that wracked her mind reared its ugly head and took her from him temporarily. Nor did he miss the pain in her eyes as she lay slowly dying from the horrible lymphoma that took her from him way too soon. He was grateful for the freedom her death had brought her and saddened by the loss as well. He was also feeling guilty over being relieved that he didn't have to worry about her any more, that she would no longer be causing him problems and interfering in his life.

Once again, he knelt down to apologize to her, to tell her how much he loved her and missed her, to wish her a happy birthday. Today was a good day, as there were no demonic ghosts tormenting his soul with his mother's schizophrenia-laced voice, only her laughter and the sweetness of her smile. He felt his spirits begin to lift as happy memories filled his tired brain.

He reached out to brush away the dry leaves from around her headstone when he thought he saw a glint of metal behind the marble stone. His cop's instinct suddenly went on high alert, yelling at him of some unseen danger, and the hackles on the back of his neck suddenly raised sky high, sending shivers of anxiety running down his spine to settle in the pit of his stomach. Why did he feel like he was being watched? He lifted his head and looked around, but there was no one there. He was alone.

Once more, he reached out his hand and brushed the dead leaves away from the strange object. His fingers wrapped around it and pulled it out from behind the marker. It was a picture frame. _That's odd_, he thought to himself as he stood. _Who would leave a picture frame behind my mother's grave stone?_

He turned the picture frame over and nearly dropped it in surprise. Staring back at him from the two-toned metallic frame were two young boys, their arms around each other's shoulders, smiling at the photographer. _That's me_, he thought stunned. _Me….and Frank. But…how? Why?_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Where is He?

The days began to blur together for Bobby. Shortly after finding the framed photo of himself and Frank in the cemetery, he had discovered the police outside his brother's building. With panic filling his brain and bile rising rapidly from his stomach, he bullied his way down the steps and into the back courtyard.

Fearing the worst, he pulled back the sheet covering the lifeless form. The cold brown eyes of his brother stared vacantly up at him. Numbly, he dropped the sheet and sat down, too stunned to speak. His normally busy brain was suddenly and unusually silent; there were no words to describe this.

Frank was dead. Frank, his older brother, was gone. Frank, the favored son, the one who could do no wrong in his mother's eyes, the one who had once protected his little brother, only to torment him later with his addictions and problems, was gone. Out of his life, never to bother him again. Never to wake him up in the middle of the night in a drug or alcohol-induced craze, never to come after him needing money, or favors, or a get out of jail free card. Gone.

Strange thing was, now that he was gone, he missed him. For in spite of the worry and the pain and the trouble, the little brother inside Bobby still loved his older brother.

Then the guilt started. Wave after wave of it washed over him with thoughts of "if only" and "why didn't I." When the "why me's" started, Bobby thought for sure he had finally lost it. Only his vast knowledge of mental illness and coping with grief and trauma got him through those first days. And Eames. Thank God for Eames.

Eames understood loss; she had lost her husband Joe years earlier, and she understood instinctively what Bobby was going through. Eames, with her unique ability to know just when to push and when to back off, stood by him and helped him solve Frank's murder. When Nicole re-appeared, and all signs pointed towards her as having placed the photo on his mother's grave then drugged and pushed Frank out the window of his apartment, only Eames was able to keep him from hunting her down and killing her himself.

We all know that ultimately Declan Gage and his rapidly deteriorating, sadly deranged mind were behind all of it. He had convinced Nicole that she would be doing Bobby a favor by murdering Frank, after all, it was Bobby's fault that Jo had become a serial killer and cut out her own tongue and was now comatose in Bellvue , and then he had turned around and murdered her. Gage wanted to challenge Bobby; to bring life back into him; to watch Bobby enjoy his work again. But when Declan told Bobby he'd done it all to set him free, Bobby was flummoxed. Caring for his brother, looking out for him, trying to help him had been a calling of sorts for Bobby.

And chasing Nicole? Well, Nicole was Bobby's white whale; his Moriarty. He had secretly and almost perversely enjoyed having her re-appear and wreak havoc in his life. She was his intellectual equal and he often times found himself bored by the incompetency of other perpetrators and criminals compared to her. What would he do now without her popping up every so often to challenge him?

Bobby called Amy several days after Frank's tragic and untimely death. She had heard the sadness and weariness in his voice and pressed him further. But, Bobby, not wanting to spoil Amy's good mood and her excitement over the early progress of her trip, insisted it was just a particularly tough case and once it was all over and he could take an extra day off he would be deftly turned the conversation back towards Amy and Trey's business meetings and was genuinely happy to learn that things seemed to be going better than planned.

After getting off the telephone with Amy, Bobby found himself wishing he could have talked to her in person. He was surprised to suddenly find that he desperately needed her company. But why? She had hurt him, deeply, by shutting him out all those years ago. So why these feelings? Why now?

"Because you still love her, you big idiot," he heard a voice in his head telling him, as he lay in his bed, sleep eluding him once more. "And because having a normal family around might be a nice change, for once," the voice added sardonically. He chased those thoughts around for another hour or so, until he finally fell fitfully asleep.

By the time Amy and Trey returned home, tired but happy over the success of their trip, Declan Gage was locked securely in the loony bin, Frank had been buried next to Frances, and Nicole's heart had been reunited with the rest of her body and was on its way to the mortuary. Bobby was a wreck.

The Bobby that suddenly showed up on Amy's doorstep the next day was a Bobby Amy had never seen before. Unshaven and unkempt, he looked and smelled like he needed a very long, very hot shower and three days of sleep.

She initially felt repulsed by what she saw until she looked into his eyes. There she saw a depth of loss and sadness she had never seen before. Not even Trey was this sad over the loss of Laura.

"Bobby," she gasped. "What happened?"

"I…Frank…Nicole…dead…" his words were disjointed and made no sense. He leaned heavily against the door frame. "He said I was free, but I'm not free, Amy. I'm not free…" his voice trailed away. He looked at her with haunted confusion and her heart went out to him.

"Come on," she said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him inside. "You need a drink."

"No," said Bobby. "No more. I've had too many lately. It doesn't help."

"Okay," said Amy, as she led him down the hall to the kitchen. "How about some coffee? And when's the last time you ate?"

"Coffee sounds good, and I don't remember," he replied, wondering, as he watched her walk in front of him, how she had managed to become even more beautiful than he remembered.

As Amy scurried around the kitchen fixing a pot of coffee and a plate of leftovers for Bobby to eat, she kept up a running commentary about her trip, sensing that, right now, Bobby would rather listen than talk. When the coffee was finally ready, she poured them each a cup and sat down across from him at the table.

"Eat," she told him, noticing that he hadn't touched the food on his plate.

He picked at his food with his fork.

"Bobby, you need to eat," Amy said sternly but gently.

Bobby said nothing, but kept his head down and continued to pick at his food.

Amy watched him for a few more minutes. Finally, she had had enough. She knew how to handle Trey when he got like this; surely the same tactics would work on Trey's father. Since food, coffee, niceness and waiting hadn't worked, it was time to get out the big guns.

"All right, mister," she said firmly, slapping her hand on the table. Bobby jerked his head up and dropped his fork as he looked at her in surprise. "Come on; out with it. What's gotten you like this? And so help me, if you say work, I'm gonna…" Amy didn't know what she was "gonna do", but it always worked on Trey.

"Frank's dead," Bobby said, so softly she wasn't sure she'd heard him. Whatever it was she had expected him to say, it certainly wasn't this.

"What?" She stared at Bobby as he nodded. "Oh, Bobby; I'm so sorry! When?"

He looked back down at his plate.

"Was it right after we left?"

Bobby nodded.

"Is that why you sounded so down when we talked two weeks ago?" Bobby didn't answer, so Amy pressed on. "Bobby, why didn't you tell me? I would've come home. I would've helped you

"I know," Bobby finally answered her quietly. "That's partly why I didn't tell you. I didn't want my problems to ruin your trip. You were so excited about how things were going and coming back early might have cost you the contract."

"Coming back wouldn't have cost me that contract," Amy wanted to say, but something in his tone of voice told her she should stay quiet. Wisely, and very uncharacteristically for her, she listened to her gut and asked him a different question instead. "How did he die?"

"He was murdered," Bobby said flatly.

Amy reached over and placed her hand over his. Bobby finally looked up at her. In her eyes, he did not see pity or even sympathy; he saw compassion and understanding. Suddenly, Bobby found himself wanting to tell her everything; needing to tell her everything.

The words seemed to pour out of him of their own volition. He told her about finding the picture at the cemetery, identifying Frank's body, Declan, even Nicole. And Amy sat silently and listened.

When he was finally finished, Amy realized that he hadn't said anything about his feelings, just the particulars about the case, every last detail that he could divulge.

"That must have been hard for you, seeing Declan again and realizing what had happened to him. So sad, to have your mind turn on you like that," Amy commented. She hoped Bobby would respond in agreement with her, but instead, he quietly started eating. Even though the food was now cold, he ate all of it.

Amy sat there, stunned. What happened to her Bobby? What had happened to the smiling, sensitive man who had shared stories of his work with her; who had voiced his anger and frustration and had readily expressed sadness for the victims? This emotionless man was a stranger to her.

This was not the Bobby she knew. This was not even the Bobby she had been with three weeks ago.

Where was her Bobby and could she get him back?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 Seeking Help**

Somehow, Amy managed to cajole Bobby into staying and getting cleaned up. She led him upstairs to her guest suite and pulled out several large bath towels for him, as well as some toiletries she kept on hand for guests. Between Trey and AJ, she was able to find some clothing that would be suitable for Bobby to sleep in and left the pile on the bed for him to rummage through when he was finished.

While she waited for him in the sitting room of the suite, she took his cell phone and called Eames. Maybe she could help her figure out how to help Bobby.

"Bobby, this isn't a good time," Eames said annoyed as she answered her phone on the second ring. "I'm at my sister's in the middle of a heated game of Sorry. This had better be good!"

"Um, I'm sorry," Amy stammered. "This isn't Bobby, Detective Eames. It's Amy."

"Amy," Eames said stunned. "I'm sorry; I thought you were Bobby. What's up?"

"I'm sorry to be calling you like this," Amy said hesitantly. "Bobby's here and he's in pretty bad shape. I don't know what to do with him. I thought maybe you could help me?"

"Just a minute," Alex said. Amy could hear her mumbling to someone in the background. A few moments later, Eames spoke to her again. "Sorry about that. I changed rooms so we could talk privately. Now, what's wrong with Bobby and why is he at your place?"

"He just showed up here. We had talked on the phone while I was gone and he sounded weary and upset, but said it was just a tough case and he couldn't talk about it. Then today, he just showed up looking like he hadn't eaten or slept in three days. He smelled like he hadn't showered in a while, either. I got him to eat and he told me about the case, and Frank and Declan and Nicole, but that's all. He won't talk about anything else."

Alex thought she knew what Amy was talking about, but asked the question anyway. "What won't he talk about? His feelings?"

"Yeah. Is that typical?"

"Yes. Bobby thinks he can protect others by keeping things to himself. He doesn't realize that it pains us to watch him hold it all in and hurts us to see him hurting inside. He cares too much sometimes. Captain Ross has tried making him talk to one of the department psychiatrists, but he never says much to them, either. He's very hard-headed."

So I'm learning, Amy thought. "Why does he do that? What happened to him? The Bobby I dated shared his feelings about cases and victims and situations. This Bobby is foreign to me. How do I reach him?"

"If I knew the answer to that last question, I'd be rich," Eames said. "Bobby had a hard childhood. From what I've picked up, he learned at an early age not to show his feelings and emotions. It got him abused by his drunken father and made his mother's mental illness even worse at times. He realized that being quiet and disappearing into the background made things better for him. I've never been able to get him to fully open up to me. If you can do it, you'd be a miracle worker. If you could just make him happier, I'd be grateful. I hate seeing him like this and he's hard to work with."

"Any suggestions," Amy had heard the shower cut off and was eager to end the phone call before he found her talking to Eames.

"Just be there," Eames urged her. "Oh, and listen to him when he speaks; even to other people. I've learned more about him by listening to him talk to others than from what he's told me directly. And Amy, one more thing; don't lie to him. Please," Alex begged. "You're his best chance at getting past all this mess; if you blow it, I'm personally coming after you."

"I won't, I promise," Amy reassured her softly. "And Detective? Thank you."

"You're welcome. And please, call me Alex, okay?"

"Okay. 'Bye." Amy hung up Bobby's phone and had just placed it back on the dresser in the guest room when he came out of the bathroom.

He was wrapped only in a large green towel and was carrying his dirty clothes. Amy studied him as he stood in the doorway and looked at her. He seems so old, she thought as she studied him. The gray hair should make him look distinguished, but the tired baggy eyes and scraggly grey beard only aged him, and not in a good way. He was out of shape, somewhat heavier and flabbier than he used to be, and Amy suddenly felt sorry for him for having to bear such heavy burdens alone. Fearing she was about to be done in by the guilt that accompanied her sorrow, she moved over to him and reached out for his dirty clothes.

"Here, let me have those," she told him, taking the clothes from his arms. "I had Dad and Trey pull out some clothes for you to borrow. I don't know how well any of them will fit you, but there they are." She nodded towards the bed.

Bobby rubbed his hand across his chin. "Do you think I should shave?"

"Only if you want to," Amy told him. Then she smiled. "Dad got rid of the dress code once he retired from the military."

Bobby studied her curiously, then gave her a small smile. Amy noticed, however, that his eyes didn't smile; they stayed sad. I'm going to have my work cut out for me, Amy thought to herself.

"Thanks," Bobby said softly.

"You're welcome to stay," Amy offered. "It might do you good to try to get some sleep. Besides, I don't think you should be alone; you need to be here, with your family."

Bobby didn't answer Amy, but turned around and went back into the bathroom. "I think I will shave," he muttered.

When Bobby awoke, it was still early. At first, he wasn't quite sure where he was. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room, he remembered that he had taken Amy up on her offer of staying and sleeping in her guest room. He had pondered it while shaving. What she had said made since; he really didn't need to be alone right now. What really got him though, was her statement that he needed to be with his family.

Until then, it hadn't really hit him that he still even had a family. As far as he was concerned, Declan had taken the rest of his family away from him when Frank was murdered. Now, he realized that wasn't the truth; he still had Trey, his son, and Hudson, his grandson. And he had Amy. He hadn't sought her out consciously for that reason, but more thinking as he had lain awake in bed had led him to realize that subconsciously, he knew he still had family out there and needed to be near them.

That she hadn't told him to get lost was a miracle in and of itself; he wasn't even sure he would've taken himself in the way he was last night. He really hadn't eaten or slept much in the last several days. He couldn't remember when he'd showered last; he'd been so preoccupied trying to find Donnie, the only family he had left, until he remembered Amy. Now he realized that he still had family left in this world. He wasn't truly alone. That thought had comforted him as he finally drifted off to sleep.

Now he was trying to figure out why he had awoken so early. He had been dreaming about playing in the park with Hudson and Trey, now he was dreaming about hearing someone crying and calling "mamma". At first, he thought he was mumbling in his sleep, then he began to realize, as he lay quietly in the darkness, that he wasn't alone. There was someone in the bed with him. Once more, a small quiet voice whimpered and cried and called out, "mamma."

Slowly and carefully, Bobby turned over in the bed. There, curled up next to him, was Hudson. Bobby was stunned. How could he have managed to get into his bed? Bobby carefully reached out a long arm and quietly picked up his watch from the bedside table. The watch had a dial that would illuminate softly at the press of a button; the time on the watch read 5:30. Bobby gently replaced the watch and turned back to look at his tiny grandson. The small boy whimpered again and stirred in his sleep.

Gingerly, Bobby reached out and placed his hand on Hudson's back to comfort him. Hudson opened his sleepy eyes and looked at him. "Daddy," he said. "Want Mamma." Bobby's heart broke; he wanted his Mamma, too.

"Shh, it's okay little guy," Bobby whispered softly. Hudson schooched his little body up close to Bobby's and starting crying.

Bobby pulled the little boy into his arms and sat up. He pushed the pillows up behind his back and arranged Hudson so that he was curled up in his arms and leaning against his broad chest. He murmured words of comfort to him until he calmed down and fell back asleep. Bobby laid his head back against the pillows and sighed. _Trey's got a rough road ahead of him_, he thought. _This little guy's in bad shape, not understanding why his mommy isn't around anymore. I wonder if he's thought about getting counseling. I could give him several names._

Hudson whimpered and stirred in Bobby's arms. Reflexively, Bobby tightened his hold on the child and stroked his back again, soothing the toddler back to sleep. He leaned his head down and buried his face in the boy's blonde curls. "It's okay little guy," Bobby whispered. "Your Boppy's here and I'm not going to let anything hurt you."

About 6:30, Amy woke up. She was listening for the usual sound of Hudson calling to her from his crib in her sitting room. Trey had been out late entertaining potential distributors for the winery and Amy had offered to keep Hudson at her home for the night. By 6:30 most mornings, the little guy was fussing from a full diaper and an empty stomach.

This morning, he was unusually quiet, so Amy rose from her bed and went to check on him. She grabbed her purple satin bathrobe from the back of her dressing table chair and was slipping into it as she entered her sitting room. The crib was right by the door; it was empty. Not unusual; the little guy had taken to climbing out of it, as evidenced by the lime green cast he was currently sporting on his left arm, and going into his dad's bedroom, fussing and looking for his mother.

Trey usually comforted him and put him back to bed. Amy, exercising her grandmotherly prerogative, would allow him to climb into her bed and spend the rest of the night there.

Perhaps he wandered off confused, looking for his dad's bedroom, she thought as she carefully perused her sitting room, checking to make sure he wasn't curled up asleep somewhere. She checked the bathroom and her large closet; no sign of him.

She sighed. Maybe he wandered off down the hall, she thought. She moved quietly out of her room and into the hall. Where could he have gone, she wondered. She knew she had locked the door at the end of the hall. Her grandfather had put connecting hallways on the top two floors identical to the one on the first floor; she kept that door locked when Hudson was staying with her.

Could he have gone into the guest room? She headed in that direction, noticing that the baby gate was still securely blocking access to the stairs.

Oh, no, Amy thought. Bobby is sleeping in the guest room. She quickened her pace. Noticing the bedroom door was still closed, she checked the sitting room door. It was open. She crept in quietly, not wanting to wake Bobby at such an early hour. The man was worn out and needed his sleep.

She did a quick but careful scan of the sitting room, making sure that Hudson wasn't curled up asleep on the sofa or one of the other chairs. She moved to the bedroom door and stopped. There in front of her was a sight that made her feel both sad and relieved.

Bobby was propped up in the bed with Hudson curled up on his chest. The big man's arms were wrapped securely and tenderly around the small boy, and his cheek was resting in the blonde curls. Both were fast asleep.

Amy was relieved that she had found Hudson and that he was safe. She was sad that she had never given Bobby the chance to sleep like that with Trey. Once again, the full weight of what she had done, what her decision had cost her and Bobby, bore down heavily on her. She felt her eyes well up with tears and she struggled to hold back a sob.

She stumbled back to her room, nearly blind from the tears. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so concerned about her own feelings all those years ago that she neglected to think of Bobby's? She had known from the first time she met him that he was different, that he wasn't like all the other guys she had dated. What was she going to do about him now?

Amy sunk down on the sofa and curled her legs up under her, tucking her robe in around her body like a cocoon. She had a lot of thinking to do. Bobby had told her he wasn't going anywhere, that now that he knew about Trey and Hudson, he was going to be a part of their lives whether she liked it or not. Did she like it? On one hand, she did like it. Trey deserved to know who his father was, and Hudson certainly seemed taken by the big man and his gentle ways. On the other hand, it bothered her. It messed up all the order in her life, brought up all those questions again, and reopened the Pandora 's Box of hurt and pain and regret that she thought she had buried deep in her heart.

Did she want him around? For Trey and Hudson, absolutely. For her? She wasn't so sure. So many emotions; so many feelings. He had looked at her and treated her like they were still dating that first night he came over for dinner. She had felt like she was 21 again, young and in love, when the roses arrived, and when he had kissed her before she left for Indonesia. But this Bobby, this emotionless, beaten down, worn out shell of a man, this stranger who was sleeping in her guest bedroom? Did she want him around?

Eames had told her to be there for him, to listen to him, to take care of him, that she was the only one who could reach him and pull him back. But did she want to? Did she really want to take that chance? Was he still worth the risk? For Trey's sake, and Hudson's, yes. For hers? That was really the crux of the matter. If she was going to do this, try to reach him and pull him back, it had to be for all the marbles. It couldn't be just for Trey and Hudson, that would be half-way doing it, and Amy had never done things half-way. No, if she was going to do this, she had to be doing it for herself as well; because she wanted him back.

How far would it go? Would it lead to romance, to love, to happily ever after, maybe even to marriage and forever? She didn't know. She did know that she still loved him. How could she not love the man who had given her such a wonderful gift, such an incredible child to fill her life? They would have a happily ever after, at least as Trey's parents and Hudson's grandparents; even if they never married or had a romance, just being able to share Trey and Hudson's lives would be happily ever after enough for her.

So, was she going to go for it or not?

Still unsure, Amy made her decision. She would see how the rest of the day went. She would study Bobby closely, looking to see if there was anything of "her Bobby" left inside him; anything worth digging for, worth having in her life. She was already heartened by the scene in the guest room. The Bobby she saw in there was the Bobby she would have seen a lot of had he known about Trey. That Bobby was worth fighting for. Was there more? And, was she up to the daunting task of pulling him back?

Well, she was certainly willing to give it until the end of the day. Rising from the couch, she headed out of her room and towards the stairs. If she was going to be up thinking, she might as well get started on her day. The best way to do that was with coffee.

She readjusted her bathrobe, took down the baby gate and headed down the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 I'm Never Doing That Again**

About fifteen years ago, Amy and her family completely redid their three townhomes. Everything was replaced; carpets, plumbing, wiring, fixtures, even rotten studs and worn out sheetrock. One of the things that Amy insisted on was a complex intercom system linking every room in all three homes. Anyone using one of the many intercom panels throughout the three homes could be in contact with everyone else at the flick of a dial.

After she had started the coffee pot, Amy turned her kitchen intercom panel on. She flipped the dial to the setting for her parent's kitchen. She heard the sounds of her mother humming as she moved around her kitchen, so Amy pressed the buzzer and spoke.

"Morning, Mom," she called cheerily. Her mother's humming and singing always had that effect on her.

"Oh, hi, dear," her mother's voice floated back through the speaker and filled Amy's kitchen. "How are you?"

"Fine. Is Dad up yet," Amy asked.

"He got up an hour ago and headed out to meet the guys for coffee." Amy could hear the chuckle in her mother's voice. Her dad met weekly with other retired military men at a local coffee shop where they hashed and re-hashed and fought and re-fought every war in recent memory.

"How did Hudson do last night," her mom asked next.

Amy smiled at the memory of Hudson curled up in Bobby's arms in her guest room bed. She carefully phrased her response. "Well, you remember I came to you for some clothes for Bobby after he showed up at my door yesterday? I convinced him to stay the night and sleep in my guest room. Hudson climbed out of his crib and I found him in bed with Bobby." Amy paused to take a breath and let her words sink in with her mother.

"And how did Bobby take to finding a small child sharing his bed," Patty wondered.

"When I found Hudson, he was curled up asleep on Bobby's chest, wrapped securely in his grandfather's arms," Amy told her.

"Oh, my goodness," Patty cooed. "Seems like somebody's taken to being a grandfather pretty well."

"Seems so. We on for lunch later?"

"Absolutely." Amy heard a soft buzz come through her intercom speaker and noticed that the light next to Trey's name was glowing. "I gotta go, Mom. Trey's buzzing me. 'Bye."

"'Bye, Sweetie."

Amy flipped the dial again. "Morning, Trey! How are you?" Another day had begun for the close-knit Wainwright family.

The small boy stirred and stretched. The older man grunted and grumbled and loosened his hold. The small boy awakened fully and realized that he was both hungry and in possession of a very dirty diaper; he began to fuss and poke at the larger body he was on top of.

The older man slowly woke up as the small boy continued to poke, then he began to hear signs of a baby fussing and opened his eyes.

"Hey, Hudson," the man cooed softly. "What's the matter little guy?"

Hudson continued to fuss and wipe sleepily at his eyes. He looked up fully into the older man's face and became confused. This man was not his father. He began to fuss louder and to sob, "Daddy!"

"Oh, hey! It's all right," the man said gently as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. "You're with your 'Boppy', Hudson. You're okay." _Funny_, he mused, _how natural sounding it is for me to be addressing myself as 'Boppy' around Hudson._

Hudson continued to fuss and cry as Bobby pulled the boy up to his shoulder and hugged him gently, then began to pat him on the back to soothe him.

"Are you hungry, little guy," Bobby asked, as he rose from the bed. "I know I am. I wonder where your grandmother is."

Bobby had just reached the door when the smell accosted his nose. "Oh, man," he exclaimed. "What in the world?"

He shifted Hudson to his hip and looked down at the boy. "Did you go poop, little guy?"

Hudson just looked at Bobby and grinned. "Boppy," he exclaimed happily as he finally realized who was holding him.

"Are you poopy," Bobby asked him again, eyeing him closely. "'Cuz you sure smell like it."

"Poopy," Hudson hollered.

Walking out into the hall, Bobby rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his free hand, then the back of his neck. "Let's see if we can find a clean diaper somewhere."

He remembered Amy showing him where her suite of rooms was last night, and assumed Hudson might sleep in there when he stayed with her. So, it would naturally follow, that Amy would have diapers and changing supplies in there as well.

He entered her sitting room and spotted the changing table peeking out from its discreet location in the corner. He carefully placed Hudson on the table and took inventory of the supplies. He pulled out a diaper and a box of wipes. Steeling himself for the inevitable, he looked at Hudson, now lying on the changing table, kicking his legs and studying his grandfather closely.

"Okay, Hudson. Let's get you cleaned up and changed and then we'll go find ourselves something to eat, okay?"

The little boy's hand found a small toy that had been lying on the changing table, and he began waving it around and playing with it.

Bobby cautiously pulled Hudson's pajama bottoms off and draped them over the end of the changing table. The smell that assaulted his nose was unlike anything he had ever come across at a crime scene. He closed his eyes and shuddered at the smell. _How do parents do this on a regular basis, _he wondered. _I guess they eventually get used to it._

He bravely peeled back the flaps of the diaper and pulled it away from the child's body, revealing a soggy, smelly brown mess. "Ugh," Bobby said again as the powerful odor struck him full force. He looked at Hudson. "You sure do make some smelly poop, little guy!"

Hudson just babbled and cooed and played with his toy. As he waved it around, he nearly hit Bobby, who was now bent over attempting to clean the mess with a wipe that was barely large enough to cover the palm of his hand. Another loud sound from Hudson was accompanied by the boy suddenly slamming his arms and legs down onto the changing table. This time Bobby was hit in the head with the small toy.

"Shit," he exclaimed as he jumped back from the table. "Oww," he said next as he rubbed the sore spot on his head with his hand. He tossed the used wipe in the trash can and reached for another one. "Hudson, you have to be still. You hit me on the head with that thing," he admonished the child.

He continued to wipe and clean, lifting each leg separately and checking all the little nooks and crannies, ensuring that he had removed every last bit of filth from the boy's bottom. He thought he had noticed some baby powder sitting on the lower shelf of the changing table and he bent to retrieve it. He had, however, neglected to keep one hand firmly on Hudson's belly as he did, and as soon as he crouched down, Hudson flipped over onto his belly and quickly sat up.

Bobby stood back up, white powder container in hand, and looked amazed at the boy. "Hudson," he chided softly, "you're supposed to be lying down. Come on." He began to shift the boy to lay him down when Hudson began to holler, "NO!" at the top of his lungs.

"Hudson! Yes," Bobby said more firmly as he continued to wrestle with the child. "Lay down," he commanded. He succeeded in laying the boy back down on the changing pad, only to discover that he had failed to wrap up the badly soiled diaper and the child had now stuck his foot in it.

Bobby grunted as he carefully folded the diaper and closed it with the sticky flaps. With one hand on Hudson, he tossed the diaper into the nearby trashcan, then he grabbed another wipe and cleaned the poop off the boy's foot.

He lifted Hudson's legs and slid the diaper under the small bottom. Again, he kept one hand on Hudson's belly as he reached for the baby powder. Carefully opening the powder, he tipped it to shake some onto the little boy's bottom just as the child began to pee. The pee caught him off-guard and square in the face. He grimaced and jumped back. "God damnit," he yelled in frustration. Hudson laughed with glee and began to kick his legs, yelling, "Boppy! Boppy!" as he did so.

Suddenly, Bobby heard a muffled snort coming from behind him. He turned to see Amy standing in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, failing miserably in her attempt to hide her laughter behind one hand.

"Oh, Bobby," she said between giggles. "You should have come and gotten me."

"I thought I could handle it by myself," he said ruefully. "How much did you see," he asked her as she joined him at the changing table.

"I saw you get 'baptized,'" she said with a giggle. "Was there more?"

"Only a king-sized dirty diaper," Bobby groused. "Can't you smell it?"

Amy sniffed. "Mmm. I guess I'm just used to the smell by now." She stepped up and handed him the mug of coffee and began to deftly finish cleaning Hudson and putting a fresh diaper on him.

"Well, it was a bad one. He hit me on the head waving around some toy left on the table. He flipped over and sat up before I was done. Then I hadn't folded up the diaper and thrown it away, and he started kicking and got it all over his foot – what's so funny?"

"I'm sorry. You just sound like you've never changed a diaper before." She took the pajama bottoms Bobby handed her and began to put them on Hudson.

"I haven't." He saw the look of incredulity on her face. "What's so strange about that? I didn't date any women who had little kids. And, I never got the chance to change one of Trey's."

Amy caught her breath as if to make a retort, then seemed to think better of it and fell silent. Bobby looked at her. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

"No, it wasn't," she said softly. She picked Hudson up from the changing table and turned to Bobby. "I guess I deserved that." She smiled down at Hudson. "Are you hungry, Hudson? Want some cereal?"

When the little boy nodded, she smiled. "Okay, then. Let's go get some Cheerios." She turned and looked back over her shoulder at Bobby. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he said as he began to follow her out of the room. "But, I'm never doing that again."

When they got to the stairs, Bobby excused himself to go change his clothes. He arrived in the kitchen in time to hear Amy and Trey laughing hysterically at Amy's retelling of Bobby's adventure in diaper changing.

"Hudson peed on him," Trey was asking her, his eyes wide in amazement.

"Right in the face," Amy said, doubled-over with laughter. "It was hilarious."

Bobby cleared his throat as he stood in the doorway, his ears tinged red with embarrassment. Trey and Amy looked up at him and tried vainly to keep their faces straight, but were unable to as their laughter spurted out and filled the kitchen once more.

Bobby walked in and stopped at the table. He tried his best to keep a straight face, but he, too, fell into laughter when Hudson blurted out, "Boppy poopy!"

"Yeah, Boppy poopy," Bobby admitted through his chuckles. "Nothing I've done in the Army or with the NYPD prepared me for that. I have new respect for you two."

"You should try doing it at two in the morning, in the dark, when you're half-asleep," Trey said wryly. "That's a challenge."

"I'm proud of you, Trey," Bobby said seriously.

Trey looked askance at him.

"No, I mean it. Look at what you've done. You've gotten a college degree, you're running a winery and expanding it internationally, and now you're adjusting to finding yourself a single parent. That's not easy to do and you seem to be doing fine so far."

Trey looked at Bobby as tears welled up in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, fighting back a sob. "I miss her terribly. It's been hard, but living here next to Mom and my grands makes it easier. And having you here helps, too." He paused and swallowed hard, wiped his eyes. "I wish you could have met her. You would have liked each other." Amy reached over and squeezed Trey's hand and smiled at him sympathetically.

Suddenly, Hudson hollered, "MORE!" and threw his bowl on the floor. The moment was broken and life was suddenly busy again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Life with Amy, Trey and Hudson was busy, boisterous and beautiful. Hudson was non-stop and easily ran Bobby ragged, even with Christy around to help them all out. Trey and Amy took the day off from work, handling only the most important business from their office in Trey's home. By the middle of the afternoon, when Hudson was ready for a nap, so was Bobby.

While Bobby was off resting, Trey met with his mom in her kitchen.

"Mom, what would you say about me inviting Bobby to move in here?"

Amy studied Trey while she pondered her answer. "I'd be okay with that. Do you think he'd take you up on that offer?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't talked to him about it yet. I wanted your feedback first. I was thinking about letting him have the apartment upstairs."

Both Trey and Amy had private apartments on the third floors of their homes. Until recently, Christy had lived upstairs at Trey's, but she had recently moved to the apartment above Amy's, saying that with Laura now gone, she felt uncomfortable living above her employer. Trey agreed with her and helped her move. She was still close enough to do her job as Hudson's nanny, but now their living arrangements would be more professional.

"I think that would be a good idea. He could be close enough to all of us, but still have his own place to live."

"Would it bother you?"

"It might. But, don't you worry about that," Amy said, grabbing Trey's hand and giving it a hard squeeze. "I have to come to terms with him knowing about us and wanting to be around. I have made quite a mess of things and now I have to get used to how things have changed."

"Do you want him around?"

Amy looked up sharply at Trey, a stunned look on her face. "How could you ask that?"

"Well, do you? I can't tell. You haven't told me what's going on, how you're feeling, why you didn't tell him. You never tell me anything since Laura died. It's like you're walking on eggshells around me. I'm not that fragile; I'm not going to break! I know I told you I forgave you, and that's true. But, I would like to know why you never told him."

"I was scared he wouldn't want me. I thought if I broke up with him first it wouldn't hurt so much, that he couldn't hurt me. But I was wrong; I hurt myself and in the process, hurt you. I'm sorry I haven't talked to you about things as much since Laura died. I just thought you'd need some time to process everything, to adjust. I didn't mean to shut you out. I just…" Amy let her voice trail off as she found herself overwhelmed with emotion and unable to speak.

"Mom," Trey said heavily. "Oh." He found himself at a loss for words and simply hugged her.

"Are you sure you'd be okay with me talking to Bobby about staying here?"

Amy nodded.

"Okay. I'll talk to him after supper. Thanks, Mom."

Later that day, after they had eaten supper, Bobby went up to the guest room in Amy's house to gather up his things and go home. He heard a soft knock on the doorjamb and turned to see Trey.

"Hi," Bobby said.

"Hey. Uh," Trey shuffled his feet, stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. "Uh, Mom said you were leaving?"

"Yes," Bobby replied. "I have things to do back at my place and I don't want to impose."

"You're not imposing."

"That's what your mom said when I told her," Bobby said with half-smile.

"Well, I, uh…" Trey stammered nervously. "I, uh, would you consider staying a few more days? Please? You could stay with me if it's too uncomfortable staying here." Trey's brown eyes were now begging. He really wanted Bobby to stay; he was afraid if his father left in this condition he would never get the chance to see him again.

"I don't know, Trey," Bobby said. "I'm really not sure that would be such a good idea."

"Why not? We'd get to know each other better, and could see each other more. Hudson would love to have you around; the two of you had a great time today."

Bobby had to agree. He had taken Hudson to the park and zoo, really enjoying the zoo's inhabitants through the eyes of a child. They had eaten popcorn and hot dogs and even napped together on Trey's couch. Being able to see Hudson everyday would certainly be a plus.

But, how would Amy take to having him around all the time? He was off work on personal leave for the next two weeks. Both Captain Ross and Alex had insisted on it. He was planning on cleaning his apartment and searching some more for his nephew Donnie.

"Bobby, I have an apartment on the third floor. It used to be Christy's, but she moved out after Laura died, and now lives in the apartment on Mom's third floor. We felt it wasn't appropriate for the nanny to be living with her employer. So, it's empty and available if you'd like to stay there. Maybe just for a few days? Mom said it's okay with her," Trey volunteered before Bobby could ask.

"It sounds like you've covered all the bases," Bobby said thoughtfully. He was torn; he took a moment to collect his thoughts before he answered Trey's question. "For a few days, yes. But, I really have other things I need to do, so I'd have to go home at some point."

"I understand," Trey said. "Do you need me to take you home to get your things?"

"No, my car is parked in the lot a few blocks over. But, you could ride over there with me. I'd like the company."

"Okay. I'd like that, too."

The ride over to Bobby's home in Brooklyn was spent discovering a disparate taste in radio stations, but a profound interest in the results of the Mets game that Trey found coverage of on a local sports station. That spurred quite the heated discussion on who was the greatest Mets player so far and why. That discussion naturally segued into which game was the greatest Mets game ever. They were still arguing and laughing about it when they reached Bobby's apartment.

The two men entered the apartment and Bobby excused himself to go to his bedroom to pack. Trey took the opportunity to poke around and try to learn more about his father. He moved to the bookshelves and took in the many titles crammed and stacked to overflowing. He correctly assumed his father loved to read, and was impressed at the variety and scope of the titles. Mystery and science-fiction competed for space with Shakespeare, Voltaire, Dante and Heinlein, while psychological titles about brain development, personalities and profiling, along with medicine and genealogy held their own.

He noticed a shelf holding picture frames and knickknacks. One in particular caught his eye. It was a photograph of two young boys, their arms around each other, which looked vaguely familiar. The young boy on the left in the photograph could have been him as a young boy. He assumed it was Bobby with his uncle.

The ringing of a cell phone caused him to reach for his. He realized it was Bobby's when he heard the man's muffled voice coming from the bedroom. Trey decided he'd snoop around in the kitchen and moved towards the refrigerator. The pungent odor of rotting milk and spoiled food accosted his nostrils and had him quickly shutting the door and searching for a trash bag. Upon finding one, he went back and began dumping the spoiled contents of the refrigerator into the bag. When he was finished, he went outside in search of a dumpster.

Bobby answered his cell phone on the second ring. The number was unfamiliar, and his voice was hesitant.

"Hello?"

"Bobby? Is that you," a woman's voice purred.

"Yes, it is. Who is this," Bobby asked.

"It's Judith. We met at Laura's funeral. I hope you don't mind my calling to check on you, but you did give me your phone number and you did seem interested in getting together again. I was hoping you were free Friday night?"

Bobby moved to the door of his bedroom and closed it softly. Something about talking to his son's dead wife's sister was a little creepy and he felt strange about it, especially since Trey was in the next room.

"I am free Friday night. What did you have in mind?" Strange though it may be, Bobby had been interested in getting together with Judith again and was pleased that she had called.

"Oh, I don't know. Dinner? A few drinks? Maybe some dancing?"

"Why don't we start with dinner and see where it goes from there," Bobby answered her. He thought quickly. Today was Tuesday, he told Trey he'd stay for only a few days, and then he'd have to come back here. That would work. By Friday he'd be back here, so if the night led them to more than dinner, drinks and dancing, he wouldn't have to embarrass himself by not returning to Trey's after their date. "Would you like me to pick you up, or should we just meet somewhere?"

"Would picking me up be out of your way? I live in mid-Manhattan."

"Then maybe we should meet somewhere near where you live for a drink before dinner?"

"I know just the place," Judith replied. She gave Bobby the address and they said their goodbyes.

As Bobby was hanging up the phone, he heard the front door to his apartment open and close. Thinking Trey was just walking around to keep from being bored, he went back to his packing, feeling lighter and somewhat excited by the prospect of his Friday night date with the beautiful Judith.

When Trey returned from dumping the smelly bag of garbage, he was accosted by a very angry, balding man.

"Where's my money," the man demanded, getting up into Trey's face and waving a fist. The man reeked of cigar smoke and Trey recoiled in confusion.

"I'm sorry. What do you mean? What money are you talking about?"

The man glared at him again in the dim light of the corridor. "My rent money. You said you would have it by today. So, where is it?"

"I'm sorry, you must have me confused with the man who lives here."

"What, you ain't him?"

"No, I'm his son, Trey Wainwright." Trey stuck out his hand as a gesture of greeting. The man simply looked at it and grunted.

"Harvey Simpson, building supervisor." He begrudgingly shook the young man's hand. "His son, eh? I didn't know Detective Goren had a son."

"He didn't either until recently."

Mr. Simpson looked suspiciously at Trey.

"It's a long story," Trey sighed. "Now what's this about owing you rent?"

"Yeah. I cut him a lot of slack, since he's a cop and all. Keeps the building safe just having folks know a cop lives here. He gets a real good rate, too, since cops don't make a lot of money. But lately, he's been in a tight way money-wise and I haven't been pushing the issue. But I'm getting heat from the owner about not letting anyone get away with not paying their rent, so I told him last month that he was going to have to come up with the money soon."

"How much does he owe you," Trey asked as he reached into his jacket pocket for his checkbook and a pen.

"Well, let's see. He pays $600 a month, and he owes for the last 6 months, so that would be thirty-six hundred dollars."

Trey looked up in surprise. "He owes you thirty-six hundred dollars?"

The super nodded.

"Who do I make the check out to," Trey sighed, making a mental note to talk to both Bobby and his mom about this. Bobby was family and if he was pressed for cash, Trey was more than willing to help him out.

Mr. Simpson answered Trey and gratefully took the offered check for the full amount.

"Does that square things?"

"Yes, yes it does," Mr. Simpson nodded forcefully. He looked up at Trey and smiled. "Thank you, thank you very much. My boss will be so pleased."

"Anytime," Trey answered. "Just do me a favor. Please don't tell Bobby that I paid off his back rent. It's a touchy subject."

"I understand," Mr. Simpson said. "You need anything, anything at all, just let me know," he called over his shoulder as he headed back down the hall to the elevators.

When Trey went back inside, Bobby was just finishing up packing.

"You ready," Trey asked.

"Just about," Bobby answered. "Where did you go?"

"Oh, that. I was snooping around in your kitchen, looking for something to drink, and discovered that your refrigerator had turned into a science project gone wrong. I cleaned out all the spoiled food and took the trash bag out to the dumpster. I hope you don't mind."

Bobby studied Trey for a long moment before answering. "Thank you." He moved off into the bathroom to gather his toiletries.

"I saw a picture on your shelf that looks interesting," Trey called out to Bobby in the bathroom. "The one with the two young boys. One of them looks like me. Is that you?"

Bobby came back out of the bathroom carrying a small ditty bag filled with his toiletries. "Yes. The other boy is…I mean, was, your Uncle Frank."

"It's a nice picture. Why don't you bring it with you and show it to Mom?"

Bobby turned then to look at Trey. Trey could see the hurt and anguish in his father's eyes.

"You don't have to if you don't want to. It was just a suggestion," Trey said defensively.

Bobby took a deep breath and sighed. "And a very good suggestion at that," he forced himself to say. "Why don't you go get it and we'll take it with us."

When they were back in Bobby's car and headed back to Trey's, Bobby tossed out a question to his son.

"Who were you talking to out in the hall while you were taking out the trash? I thought I heard voices."

"Oh, just one of the neighbors," Trey answered vaguely.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The next few days flew by. Amy left Bobby alone with his thoughts. Bobby slept late and ate well, at Mrs. Mitchell's insistence. By the time Friday rolled around, he felt better than he had in a long time. He supposed proper rest and good food were the reason, although the time he had spent getting to know his son and grandson even better couldn't have hurt any.

Bobby was packing his things and getting ready to leave when Trey approached him.

"Bobby, I was wondering if you'd consider moving in here, with us."

Bobby stopped packing and stared at Trey. "Live here," he asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"I, uh, I don't know what to say."

"I understand if you need time to think about it. Take all the time you need. Just know that the offer stands."

"Thank you. I - I'm going to need at least the weekend by myself to consider it. There are a lot of details that would have to be taken care of: my apartment lease, utilities, mail…." His voice trailed off as he considered the enormity of it all. "I'm not sure what the department would make of a detective suddenly living on the Upper East Side. This isn't exactly the kind of place a police officer can afford, you know." He smiled ruefully.

"I know. It would be an adjustment. You wouldn't have to pay anything, if that's a concern."

"I would insist on paying my own way. I'm perfectly capable of paying for my keep," Bobby responded defensively.

"I know you are. But you're family. Family doesn't have to pay to stay here. Besides, I know things have been tough for you lately, so I thought if you lived here, it would help."

"How do you know things have been tough for me?" Bobby took a step towards Trey and glared at him suspiciously.

"Mom told me briefly what's happened to you this past year. I also know you're on personal leave, and I don't imagine the NYPD pays its employees for personal leave."

"No, they don't," Bobby said relaxing. He hadn't told anyone how seriously in debt he was, and was relieved to discover that Amy and Trey were still unaware of just how bad off he really was.

"Are you sure you want me to live here? I come with a lot of baggage, and we still don't know each other all that well."

"All the more reason for you to move in here," Trey said, gesturing wide with his arms. "So you can get to know us better, and we can get to know you better. Besides, Hudson already calls this 'Boppy's house.' You wouldn't want to disappoint your little guy by moving out again. He wouldn't understand. He still thinks his mommy is coming back."

"You just had to bring Hudson into the argument, didn't you," Bobby said with lips pursed and eyes laughing. "You really hit below the belt with that one."

"He's your Achilles Heel. Why wouldn't I use that to my advantage? Besides, I LOVE having you here. And, you still owe me dinner," Trey reminded him with a grin. Bobby had discovered Trey loved a good hand of poker now and then and bet him a steak dinner that he couldn't beat his old man in a game of 5 card stud. Now, Bobby would be stuck picking up the tab.

"How about tomorrow night, 7:30 at Mason's in Brooklyn?"

"Are they any good?"

"Any good?" Bobby snorted. "They are only the best steak dinner in the five boroughs."

"Oh, that good?" Trey chuckled. "If you say so, then 7:30 it is."

"Do you know where they are located?"

"I can find it in the phone book," Trey took in Bobby's attire and realized he was more dressed up than usual. "Are you going somewhere?"

"I'm..uh…meeting a friend for drinks and dinner," Bobby stammered hesitantly. He really didn't want Trey knowing he was meeting Laura's sister for a date; it just seemed too weird.

"Anyone I know," Trey asked curiously.

"Just a friend," Bobby said as casually as possible.

Trey was still suspicious, but said nothing. "Can I help you carry your things down?"

"Yes, you can take this bag." Bobby handed him one of the bags and picked the other one up off the bed. "Please, give me the weekend to think about your offer. I promise I'll get back to you on Monday."

"Okay. But I'm holding you to that. If you don't call me by Monday evening, I'm calling you. And if that doesn't work, I'll show up on your doorstep demanding an answer," Trey said sternly, even though his eyes were dancing with joy.

"Come on, you," Bobby said, laughing and pushing Trey out the door ahead of him. "I have a dinner date waiting."

Laughing, the two men made their way down the stairs. When they reached the landing on the second floor, they saw Amy.

Bobby stopped in his tracks and stared at her. She was dressed in a purple wrap dress that floated gently and gracefully around her curves. It fell softly to her knees and showed off her long legs to full advantage. She was wearing a pair of silver stilettos that brought her almost to eye level with Bobby and Trey. She was carrying a silver clutch and a soft white shawl; her hair and make-up were tasteful and flawless for an evening out. Bobby swallowed hard at the sight of her.

"Wow, Mom! You look gorgeous," Trey beamed. "Where are you going?"

_And with whom_, Bobby wondered. A pang of jealousy speared him in his gut. _Where did that come from?_

"I have a gallery function this evening. The Cassidy show, remember?"

"Oh, that's right," Trey said. "Karen Cassidy is showing her students' sculptures tonight. I'd forgotten about that. Tell her 'Hello' from me. I'll be by in the morning to see the sculptures with Hudson."

"Where is Hudson, by the way? I came up here to say goodbye to him on my way out," Amy commented.

"He's with Gran and Pap," Trey replied, referring to Amy's parents. "They took him to McDonald's to try and wear him out. I thought it would be better for him not to be here when Bobby left to go home."

Amy looked over at Bobby and sighed. "I do wish you'd stay longer. Did Trey tell you he'd like you to consider moving in with us?"

Bobby nodded.

"And," Amy let the word hang in the air.

"He's going to take the weekend to think about it," Trey answered.

"Okay," Amy said, her eyes still on Bobby. "You look nice. More dressed up than usual," she commented, taking in his dark slacks, black button-down shirt and black leather jacket. "You going out?"

"Yes," Bobby said, now wishing he was going with Amy instead. _Why do I keep having these thoughts? There's nothing between us anymore. _ "I'm meeting a friend for dinner and drinks."

"Oh," Amy said. _Why does that bother me_, she wondered.

Trey took all this in with amusement. Neither one of his parents could take their eyes off each other and neither one had moved since they met up just minutes ago. Trey cleared his throat and spoke.

"Shouldn't we be going downstairs? Both of you have places to go and I don't think you care to be late." He offered his arm to Amy. "May I escort you down the stairs," he asked her grandly.

She grinned and giggled at him and took his arm. "Of course you may, kind sir," she replied, playing along. They stepped around Bobby and made their way down the stairs, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

_Why does the thought of her going to that gallery opening without me make me feel, I don't know, sad? Empty? Disappointed? Why didn't she ask me? I would have gladly gone with her. Does she think I'm not good enough? Or maybe that I'm still mad at her and would turn her down? I thought she knew better. Should I ask her about it?_

Wrapped up in his thoughts, he made his way down the stairs, but wasn't paying very careful attention, and he bumped into Amy as he stepped off the final stair, nearly knocking her over.

"Oh," she exclaimed, stretching her arms out and taking a step in an attempt to regain her balance.

He reached out and grabbed her, wrapping a long arm securely around her and pulling her back upright. Upright just happened to bring her in very close contact with his body, and he jolted inwardly at the sudden physical reaction her nearness had on his body. Amy's hands landed on his chest, and they were suddenly face to face, nose to nose. Neither one moved as their hearts were pounding, whether over the sudden scare of Amy's near fall or the nearness of their bodies, neither one could be sure.

"Thank you," Amy whispered.

"Are you okay," Bobby asked, his voice equally soft.

Amy nodded. Bobby eased his grasp and made certain she had a sure footing before releasing her. Amy stepped back and straightened her dress.

"Well, um…I need to be going," Amy said. She stepped over to Trey and reached up to give him a peck on the cheek. "Bye Sweetheart."

"Bye Mom," Trey replied.

"Amy," Bobby called after her softly as she walked away.

"Yes," she asked, stopping and looking back over her shoulder.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." She smiled broadly at him and then walked away towards the end of the hall. Bobby watched her hips swish gently from side to side and swallowed hard again.

"Bobby, you're going to be late," Trey said with amusement.

"Oh…uh…yeah." He shuffled his feet, then looked over at Trey. "Thanks again for letting me stay in your apartment. I really enjoyed being here and visiting with you."

"Me, too," Trey said as he handed Bobby his bag. "I'm serious about the offer of moving in up there."

"I know you are, and I'm seriously considering it, and I will get back to you on Monday." Bobby moved away towards the front door; Trey followed him.

"Do you need me to help you carry your stuff over to the parking garage?"

"No, I moved my car around earlier today; it's parked out front now."

Bobby stopped at the door. When he leaned over to set down one of his bags, Trey reached around him for the doorknob.

"Here, let me get that for you."

"Thanks," Bobby said, as he reached out to shake Trey's hand.

"Have a nice time, Bobby."

"I will. And, thanks again."

Trey watched Bobby walk down the steps, get into his car and drive away. He wondered when Bobby and his mom would realize there was still a spark between them. _It would be a lot of fun to have them back together. I wonder if I should give them a shove, or just let it happen._ He decided he would talk to Christy about it on Monday.

Bobby's phone rang shrilly in the early morning, waking him with a start. He grabbed his cell phone and answered it, only to have the harsh ringing continue as the realization struck him that it was not his cell phone ringing, but his regular phone.

"Hello," he grunted into the phone.

"You bastard," Amy voice echoed loudly in his ear. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Wha-? Amy," Bobby asked groggily. He pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bed and ran his free hand across his face. "What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about," Amy answered incredulously. "I'm talking about last night."

"I went out to dinner last night," Bobby said, clearly confused.

"Well it certainly looks like you had more than dinner in the paper this morning!"

"In the paper? What am I doing in the paper?"

"Are you really this clueless? Don't you read the paper?"

"Yes, I read the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times," Bobby said.

"It figures," Amy mumbled. "Get dressed, get a copy of the Post, and get your ass over here," Amy ordered. She hung up abruptly.

Suddenly, all hell seemed to break loose in Bobby's apartment. His cell phones began to ring, both his work and personal phones, and there was a loud banging on his door. He heard keys jangling and the lock rattling.

Eames, thought Bobby, as he answered his work phone.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Detective," Captain Ross's voice boomed in Bobby's ear. "Do you have any idea of the problems you've caused for me and the Department?"

"Not really, but I'm starting to, sir," Bobby answered.

"I take it you haven't seen the Post this morning?"

"No, sir. I was on my out to get a copy." He could hear Eames moving around in his kitchen and hoped she was making coffee.

"Well, take a good long look at it and you better come up with a good answer for me. The Chief of D's is breathing down my neck about this already. I know it's Saturday, and I know you're off on leave, but I want to see you in my office at 11 am today."

"Yes, sir. I'll be there," Bobby answered resignedly. He hung up the phone and moved to sit on the side of his bed. He propped his elbows on his knees and sagged forward. Letting out a big sigh, he thought back over what he had just learned. Somehow a picture was taken of him last night and ended up in today's New York Post, making everyone mad. He glanced up at his bedside alarm clock. 7:30. So much for sleeping in.

He picked up his cell phone and looked at it. Trey. Bobby sighed and called him back.

"Wainwright," Trey answered brusquely.

"Trey, it's Bobby. Now, before you go jumping on me, I haven't seen the paper, but I do have an idea of what's going on. I want to apologize; I had no idea my going out to dinner last night would be such big news."

"Apology accepted; thank you. Just so you know, Mom's pissed."

"I've already been yelled at by her this morning," Bobby said contritely. "She wants to see me; my boss wants to see me. Eames is here, so I'm pretty sure she wants to see me. Do you want to see me, too?"

"I'll be here when you come by to see Mom. You really have no idea, do you?"

"I guess not," Bobby said. "Look, I've got to go. I need time to get showered and dressed so I can see both your mom and my captain this morning."

"Okay. See you soon," Trey said as he hung up.

Bobby closed his cell phone and put it on the table. He stood up and walked into the bathroom, wondering just what it was he had done that had everyone so upset.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Eames could hear Bobby's muffled voice from in the kitchen. She had started the coffee and decided to fix Bobby something to eat. She looked in the fridge and was surprised to find that there was no rotten, spoiled food inside. She pulled out two apples and a banana, deciding to fix a bowl of fruit. Knowing how much he loved bacon, she dug around in the freezer and found a package. Tossing it in the sink to defrost under warm water, she turned to pull some dishes out of the cabinet.

Now she could hear the sound of running water and knew he was in the shower.

When Bobby finally appeared in the kitchen, he was wearing a suit and tie. Eames knew by the formalness of his appearance that he had to be nervous.

"Hi," he said timidly.

"Hi, yourself," Alex said kindly, smiling at him as she set plates on the counter. She pulled out a frying pan to cook the bacon in and indicated the now-finished coffee maker. "Help yourself," she encouraged.

Bobby quietly poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the small table. There in front of him was the source of all his trouble: The New York Post, a tabloid-style newspaper known for its sensationalism and scandal.

Two large pictures of him, side-by-side, filled the front cover. The left photo was of him with Amy at the recent wine tasting; the right photo was of him sitting intimately at a small table with Judith from the night before. The words, "PLAYBOY DETECTIVE?" were emblazoned brashly and boldly across the top, right under the newspaper's banner.

Bobby sighed as he studied the two photos. Resolutely, he opened the paper and flipped to page 4. There were several more photos of him with Amy: another from the wine tasting at the gallery, the next one depicting him with Eames and Ross as they blocked the photographers' access to the Wainwrights outside Laura's funeral. The third, and most shocking to Bobby, was of Amy leaning against his shoulder as they walked into the ER to check on Hudson after he broke his arm. Bobby was startled to see that one, as they were photographed almost from behind. How had that photographer snuck up on them unnoticed like that?

The accompanying article detailed Bobby's career with the NYPD, including his present-day assignment partnered with Alex Eames in the Major Case Squad. Bobby swore softly under his breath; that could put his career in danger. No wonder the Chief of D's was so upset. Whoever had written this article had done their homework about him, even mentioning his time in Germany with the Army and accurately pin-pointing that time as the time he and Amy had been together and Trey had been conceived. The writer went on to speculate as to why Bobby and Amy hadn't been seen together before now, and the insinuations were ugly, ranging from Bobby's disinterest to the truth: Bobby hadn't known about Trey before now. The speculations as to why Amy might not have told him before now ran the gamut from her not really knowing who the father was because of her promiscuity, to her being afraid to tell him or even not telling him out of spite. Bobby could now understand better why some of the victims he dealt with had such a strong, bitter hatred of the press.

There were several more photographs of him with Judith from last night, the most damning of them the one showing them giving each other a chaste hug, right before he tucked her into a cab and waved goodbye. They hadn't even kissed, as Bobby had explained to her over dinner that he was not comfortable dating his daughter-in-law's sister as it felt too much like a taboo. Judith was understanding, though disappointed, making it very clear to him that she would be more than willing to give him another chance should he ever change his mind. They had spent a lot of the evening discussing Trey and Laura, with Judith sharing more about their life, as well as what it's like growing up in the public eye. While not among the super-wealthy elite of Manhattan society like the Wainwrights, the Edwards were well –off enough to be able to live on Long Island and send their three children to private school, elite summer camps, and lavish vacations. The family was well-known and respected on Long Island, where Mr. Edwards was a prominent businessman in his own right.

Bobby finally set the paper down, just as Alex placed a plate of bacon and fruit in front of him. She sat down opposite him with a plate of her own, saying nothing, but picking up her fork and spearing a piece of apple and eating it.

"I suppose you've read the article," Bobby asked.

"Mmm," she replied, swallowing the bite of apple and following it with a swig of coffee. "Yeah, journalism at its finest," she remarked sarcastically.

"They got my career record correct, I'll give them that much," Bobby said, picking up a piece of bacon and chewing it thoughtfully.

"You're dressed up. Nervous about going to see Amy?"

"Not really," Bobby shook his head. "I have to see Ross and the Chief of D's at 11; thought I'd look nice for it."

"Good call," Alex agreed with him. "What about Amy?"

"I'm going there first," Bobby said between forkfuls of fruit. "Thanks for breakfast, by the way." He smiled at her.

"No problem. Anything to help," Alex smiled back.

Bobby finished his breakfast and tucked the newspaper into his leather binder. He thanked Alex again for breakfast, grabbed his trench coat and left.

When Bobby pulled up in front of Amy's home, the only parking space left was marked "No Parking Tow Away Zone." Bobby pulled out his NYPD hang tag and shoved it onto the rear view mirror, then placed his blue light on the dashboard. He never liked breaking the law like that and taking advantage of who he was, but this whole situation had him grumpy and out of sorts and he just didn't feel like walking from the parking garage on the next block.

He made his way nervously up the steps to her front door, his trench coat flapping around him in the late August breeze. He was about to knock, when he changed his mind and went back down the steps. He wasn't quite ready to face Amy just yet, and thought he would enter through her parents' home next door.

Patty greeted him with a somewhat grim expression as she opened the door and motioned for him to come in. He thanked her and shifted his binder from one hand to the other as he moved past her into the hallway. He hadn't intended on carrying it inside with him, but old habits die hard, and besides, it did a great job of keeping his nervous hands occupied.

Bobby could hear piano music floating throughout the home and he recognized the powerful, emotional piece.

"That's Chopin's Prelude in F#, isn't it," he wondered aloud.

"Very good, Detective," Patty said indulgently. "She always plays it when she's angry or in a foul mood," Patty looked at him, one eyebrow raised knowingly.

Bobby continued to listen intently to the music, his head cocked slightly to one side, his brow furrowed in concentration. "That – that's not a recording, is it," he asked Patty slowly.

Patty shook her head, watching the man's face intently as the realization suddenly hit him. He turned his head and looked at her, a stunned expression on his face.

"Amy," he asked slowly.

Patty nodded, smiling. "And from the sound of it, she's pretty ticked off at things this morning. Never heard her play it with that much emotion before. I'd be careful going in there if I were you," she called after Bobby, as he quickly made his way down the hallway in the direction of the music.

Bobby stopped in the doorway of the conservatory and watched. There she was before him, bent over the keys of the elegant grand piano, fingers moving fast and furiously, notes pounding and soaring, emotion flying around the room as the strong, impressive piece unfolded before him. This particular prelude was brash, bold, even glaring at times, and best played with an undercurrent of anger. It was a particularly difficult piece for any trained pianist, yet Amy played it with a grace and elegance through her anger, surprising him in that he never knew she could play.

It hit him in the gut that he never really knew much about her at all. _Do you want to know more?_ The thought popped into his head suddenly and his immediate 'yes' in response startled him. He hadn't really thought about it, but, yes, he did want to know more about this woman, this incredible creature seated before him, who was simultaneously pouring out her thoughts and emotions so powerfully and beautifully.

He wanted her to know he was there, but at the same time, was afraid to breathe, fearing he would break the spell her music was weaving throughout the house. He was captive now to her emotions, feeling her anger and frustration as note after note, chord after chord flew out of her fingers and wove their way powerfully around the room. The music swirled around him and caught him up inside it, filled him with its passion, and he closed his eyes and began to sway slightly from side to side, moving with every rise and fall of the music, rocked by every crescendo and crashing chord. He could feel the music building up to the climactic ending, and could hardly breathe as the last strong chords died away.

He opened his eyes as Amy lowered her head to the music rest, putting her forehead on her arm, shoulders heaving as she caught her breath and her heart rate steadied. A few long moments later, Bobby shifted his binder from one hand to the other, and the soft sound of movement broke the spell and caused Amy to lift her head and turn her face in his direction.

Her eyes were red and Bobby could see that she had been crying. _ Damnit,_ he thought hurtfully, _I never wanted to be the cause of hurt and pain in her life; I only ever wanted to make her happy._

Amy rose from the piano bench and brushed past him as she moved out into the hallway.

"I didn't know you could play like that," Bobby said softly, his tone impressed. "That was…incredible. I've never heard anyone play like that before. How long have you been playing?"

"Since I was 5," Amy answered, grateful to have a neutral subject to start off their conversation. "I almost majored in music, but wanted to go to A&M more than anything, and they didn't have a music program back then. Sometimes I wish I had gone somewhere else and majored in music, but then I might not have what I have today, so…." She let the thought hang in the air as she made her way towards her mother's kitchen.

"It's not too late, you know," Bobby said encouragingly as he followed her down the hall.

"Too late for what," Amy questioned as she entered the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee pot.

"To major in music."

"Go back to school," Amy questioned incredulously. "At my age?"

"Why not? It's always been a dream of yours hasn't it?"

"I guess," Amy replied as she poured coffee for each of them. "I don't have time now-a-days. I come over here and play and fool around just for fun."

"That didn't sound like it was just for fun," Bobby said, coming over to stand by her and take the mug she offered him. He looked solemnly and seriously into her blue eyes, noting the sadness in their depths. "I truly am sorry for all the hurt I've caused you," Bobby said sincerely. "I never meant to hurt anyone by going out with Judith last night. It was just dinner with someone whom I respect and admire, that's all. If I'd thought it was going to be news like this…"

Amy placed her hand on Bobby's broad chest to silence him. "You didn't know. How could you? This is just one more reason I found it harder and harder to tell you about Trey as time went on. I knew this was an aspect of my life you weren't accustomed to. You never grew up around photographers; having your picture taken at every function you went to, seeing it in the magazines and newspapers. You at a gallery opening; attending a play with your parents; outside a movie premier; with a date at the hottest club. It's not easy, and it's not you. To be honest, it's not me, either, but I've gotten used to it and I've learned how to avoid the cameras. Thankfully, as I've gotten older, I've gotten less interesting," Amy said that last comment with a half-laugh in her voice and moved to sit down at the table. "I'm no Paris Hilton or Ashley Olsen, so I'm not a media darling anymore. I used to be, though. Would you have wanted that lifestyle, had you known about Trey from the beginning?"

Bobby joined Amy at the table and sat next to her. He sighed and sipped his coffee as he thought about all she had just said. That aspect of her life had never occurred to him before and he now had more respect for her decision. "I don't know. I might not have chosen to be a cop, that's for sure. Things would be very different for us; our lives would be very different. All the travel you did with your grandfather and Trey and Mrs. Mitchell, we would have done together. I would have learned all about wine-making and wineries right along with you."

"No police academy, no profiling, no Declan Gage," Amy commented.

"No Nicole Wallace or Mark Ford Brady," Bobby answered back.

"You've told me about Nicole, but who is Mark Ford Brady?"

Bobby decided the time had come to just let it all out and go for it. Amy didn't seem as mad at him anymore, and if he was going to try to build something with her, he had to know he could trust her.

"A serial killer who turned out to be my father," Bobby said softly, watching Amy's face intently to gauge her reaction.

"Oh, Bobby," Amy breathed softly, reaching over to take his hand in hers. "I had no idea. But, how…I mean…who told you?"

Bobby gave her a summary of the Brady investigation, along with his realization that this man was the "Uncle Mark" he and his brother had grown up knowing; the man who would come around when his "father", William Goren, was out of town. He shared with her how his mother had made a deathbed confession to him that she could never be sure which man was his father. A DNA test had confirmed that Brady was his father and shook him as well as his partner and his captain to the core. He then confessed to Amy that he was still digesting what it all meant to him now and who he really was.

Amy listened very sympathetically, and her heart went out to him. He was beaten down and broken, and she hadn't been there for him with the one thing that could have made his life easier: the knowledge of his son. She began to understand why Alex had warned her not to hurt him any further and why she had been so angry that Bobby had been kept in the dark about Trey.

"I honestly thought I was protecting you. After you joined the police force, I knew you couldn't be hounded by the press and the paparazzi; it would put your job and your life in jeopardy. But this, had I known about all this, having a family to come home to would have been a blessing."

Bobby studied her intently, accepting her compassion and understanding, sensing that she was having revelations of her own. He gripped her hand tighter with his, craving her touch, drawing from her the strength to go on. "It would have. Although, I wouldn't have wanted to put you through all the problems I had with my mother and with Frank. Dealing with her schizophrenia and lymphoma wasn't easy, and coupling that with Frank's drug and alcohol problems was really tough."

"I should have been there for you to lean on," Amy said firmly but gently. "We could have gone through all of it together. _Should_ have gone through all of it together. I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?" She smiled feebly at him.

Bobby reached out and cupped her chin, gently rubbing his thumb over her jaw line. "Yes, you have," he agreed gently. "So what do we do now?"

Amy leaned into his touch, enjoying the warmth of his hand on her skin. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately. But, before I answer, I have something I need to show you." She pulled back from his hand and looked at him shyly. "What I need to show you is at my place. Would you come over there with me, please?"

"Okay, but I have to keep a close eye on the time. Captain Ross and the Chief of Detectives want to see me at 11. They aren't happy about the photos and the article in the paper."

Amy sighed heavily. She had hoped they wouldn't have to broach that subject again, but realized that they hadn't fully addressed it, either.

"You do realize, that as long as we aren't considered an 'exclusive item', any time you are seen out on a date or in public with a woman other than me or Alex, there will be pictures and gossip?"

"I am now," Bobby answered.

"Are you going to keep seeing Judith," Amy asked him next. "You do know how that seems, her being your daughter-in-law's sister?"

"Yes," Bobby nodded. "And we talked about that last night. It makes me uncomfortable right now, so no, unless I bump into her at a family event or out around town, we won't be seeing each other publicly. She made it very clear to me that she was interested, and that if I ever changed my mind and she was available, well….." Bobby smiled sheepishly at Amy and shrugged. "She did ask me if I would serve as a consultant for her writing, but we agreed that those meetings should take place away from the public eye. Maybe even in the squad room, where we'd be away from prying eyes, but others could offer their insights as well. I told her I was flattered and would love to help her."

Amy sat back in her chair and studied Bobby. "Are you sure you're ready for all this? The prying eyes, the cameras, the constantly having to be on guard? It isn't going to make your job harder, is it?"

"I don't know if I'm ready. I think that's partly the reason for my meeting later this morning. To find out what I think about all of it and how best to handle it."

"I have contacts at the Post; I've used them before for publicity. I could talk to them about leaving you alone if you'd like."

"I may have to take you up on that. I'd like to wait until after the meeting to decide, but thanks for offering." Bobby looked at his watch; it was now 9 am. "I have an hour before I need to head into the office. What did you want to show me?"

Amy stood and offered him her hand. "It's a very heavy box in the back of my closet," she said. "Are you sure you won't mind? If it makes you uncomfortable, I can always have Trey bring it out into my sitting room."

Bobby took her offered hand and stood, leaning in to answer softly in her ear, "I've seen you naked, remember? Why should being in your closet make me uncomfortable?"

Saying nothing, and turning her blushing face away from him, Amy led him out of the kitchen and over to her house.

Meanwhile, in Brooklyn, a young man stopped by a mailbox on his way to the hardware store. He placed several business-sized envelopes carefully in the box, then removed the thin white cotton gloves he was wearing and stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans. He made his way down the block to the hardware store, where he purchased several boxes of large nails, a coil of electrical wire, a hammer and some rat poison. The hammer was to create the illusion that he would be building something with the nails. He chose a length of 2 inch metal pipe, some end caps for the pipe and a pair of pliers and a monkey wrench. He chatted with the man behind the counter about the rat problem in his apartment and asked the man for advice on fixing a leak in his bathroom. Satisfied that his purchases wouldn't arouse suspicion, he paid and thanked the man, then slowly made his way back home.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's note: From this chapter on, I'm deviating again from the cases in the show and pulling the characters back towards my original story idea. I will strive to remain true to their characters, but from this point on, the situations and settings will all be my own._

**Chapter 8**

The hour passed quickly. Amy asked Bobby to pull the box out into the sitting room, and the two sat next to each other on the sofa, flipping through albums and sharing stories. Bobby was taken in by the beauty and creativity in the albums; Amy had been introduced to scrapbooking by a friend who had gotten into the home party scrapbooking business fifteen years earlier and had been diligently filling scrapbooks with her photos and mementos ever since.

Every year of Trey's life was documented with an album, she told him; those were downstairs lining the shelves of Amy's den. Bobby was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of it all, and insisted that he be allowed more time at a later date to peruse those albums.

They spent the longest amount of time poring over the album that had sent Amy into tears only a week before: the one documenting the summer of '83. Amy had filled the album with photos of their home on the base, the office her dad worked in, the PX where Amy had worked, the nearby town, her friends' homes and favorite hangouts.

She had her copy of the photo Bobby had taken of her in the PX, labeled, "I HATE this photo, but it's Bobby's fave, so it must not be _too_ bad." Next to it was a group photo of everyone she had worked with; Amy's neat handwriting identified every person in the caption underneath.

He was surprised to discover that Amy had kept napkins from some of the places they had gone for meals. Many of the German food establishments had printed napkins, and Amy had even noted the date they were there and what they had eaten. Bobby looked askance at Amy, and she shrugged and said simply, "I had written all that down in my journal after every date and tucked in the napkins."

Bobby said nothing, but looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

"What? I enjoyed our dates and wanted to remember them," Amy said defensively.

Bobby said nothing, but flipped the pages of the album. He was suddenly shocked to see a photo of a vase full of roses. Underneath Amy had written, "The roses I gathered from the scavenger hunt." The writing went on to document the date of the hunt, where all she had gone, what she had found and their final destination. The next several pages displayed a photo of the little red convertible sports car, the places Amy had stopped at for clues and the photos of the mountain clearing where they had had their picnic. Bobby's favorite picture, the one he had taken right before they left was in there as well. The final picture in the album was the group shot taken outside the restaurant after dinner on Amy's last night in Germany; the picture that had caused all the trouble.

Bobby looked up to find Amy blushing furiously at the memories the pictures recalled. He sat quietly, looking at her face and recalling for himself the events of that day as well. Several moments passed in silence before Bobby cleared his throat and looked at his watch.

"I have to go," he said softly. He closed the book and placed it carefully on the small coffee table in front of them. "Thank you for sharing these with me. I look forward to seeing all the ones of Trey. I'm afraid that will have to wait, though. I have to go face the music down at One PP," he smiled ruefully.

"I have an album just for you," Amy said softly. She leaned over and pulled a large blue album from the box. "I knew eventually you and Trey would find out about each other and I wanted you to have something of Trey's life for yourself." She handed him the album.

"Thank you," Bobby said, genuinely touched. "I'll look at it later today. It – it was very thoughtful of you to do this." He took the album from her and stood.

Reaching down, he took Amy's hand and pulled her up off the couch to stand in front of him. He looked at her, his face emotionless and his eyes hooded and serious. He placed his free hand on her neck and pulled her face up to his. He gently pressed his lips to hers, feeling their soft warmth. When Amy gasped at the intimate contact, he pressed harder and teased her lips with the tip of his tongue. She sighed and placed her hands on his shoulders, leaning into him as she did.

Bobby groaned as her body came into full contact with his. He wrapped his arm around her, pressing the photo album into her back and pulled her tightly to him. Amy snaked her arms around his back and held on as by mutual agreement they deepened the kiss, their tongues dancing and darting around each other as each explored and remembered the taste of the other. Time seemed to stand still and the kiss became as searing as it was searching as their souls strained for reunion.

The sudden, sharp ringing of the telephone broke the spell and forced them apart. They faced each other, panting, and studied each other's face as a man's voice left a message on Amy's answering machine. The voice requested Amy return his call regarding an upcoming event the winery would be participating in.

Bobby took a small step back first as the answering machine began to beep and reset itself. He swallowed and took a deep breath before he spoke.

"I have to go. The Captain is waiting for me," he said softly and apologetically.

"I know," Amy responded gently. "Can I see you tonight?"

"I, uh, I need to think about things. I'll call you, I promise," he stuttered, then he turned and left the room.

Bobby's heart was still pounding in his chest as he stepped off the elevator on the eleventh floor of One Police Plaza. Whereas earlier it was from the amazing kiss he had shared with Amy, now it was from sheer nervousness at having to face the Chief of Detectives. He was not the Chief's favorite person, and was preparing himself for the worst.

It was unusual for him to work on the weekends, and he drew the stares and questioning glances of those officers on duty in the squad room. His presence did serve to answer the question of why Captain Ross was in his office on a Saturday morning and why Chief Moran was in there with him.

As Bobby approached the Captain's closed door, he suddenly heard Chief Moran curse and swear loudly. When Ross's voice responded equally as loud, Bobby paused, his arm outstretched and his hand raised, fist prepared to knock on the door. He dropped his arm, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Exhaling firmly in an effort to calm his nerves, he steeled himself and knocked.

Bobby felt like he was back in Boot Camp. He had stepped inside the office, shut the door and turned to face the two senior officers, when Moran was suddenly up in his face, yelling all manner of insults and slurs. Bobby had quickly come to attention, his back ramrod straight and his arms rigid at his sides, fists balling and unballing as Moran continued his angry tirade, moving around Bobby like a practiced drill sergeant. Bobby fixed his stare at spot in front of him on the wall, barely blinking and biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to be quiet. When Moran was finally spent, he ended his tirade and backed away with a "Well, what have you to say for yourself?" hanging in the air between them.

"Nothing," Bobby responded. "I have nothing to say for myself. I wasn't trying to get myself photographed and in the paper, sir. I was trying to have a quiet night out with a friend."

"A very rich and famous friend," Moran hollered back. "A friend who just happens to be your dead daughter-in-law's sister!"

"I know, sir, which is why she and I decided during that dinner that we couldn't date each other under the circumstances." Bobby paused to let his words sink in. He saw Ross's shoulders slump slightly in relief and realized his Captain was terrified of Moran as well. While each man knew of the Chief's angry outbursts, up to now, neither one had experienced one in person. It was not a pretty sight.

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Chief Moran backed away and began to pace the small office. Ross beckoned Goren to sit down, but Bobby shook him off and moved to stand beside the chairs facing the captain's desk instead. He watched as Chief Moran paced back and forth.

Ross addressed the detective standing in front of him, aware of his boss pacing next to him. "Detective, just how do you propose to keep out of the way of the paparazzi? We can't keep having your picture on the front page of the paper; it compromises the integrity of the department."

"I'm aware of that, sir. I'm not really sure we can stop them; they are a very determined bunch. You could talk to the paper, but what about the freelancers? They post on internet sites and in the local tabloid rags all the time. I'm a curiosity to them right now."

"I know, Goren," Ross said with a sigh. "Just how long you'll remain a curiosity is what concerns us most. Eventually they'll turn their attention on someone else; it's what to do in the meantime that's the problem. We can't have them following you around at crime scenes and during investigations; that's a sure way to get a case thrown out of court and I can't take that chance."

"Well, sir, I still have quite a bit of unused vacation time. I could start taking it, if that would help?"

"It might," Moran suddenly spoke up. "I've already decided I'm going to call the papers and ask them to lay off publishing any pictures of you that I don't approve of. I've never minded pictures of my officers doing their jobs, but those taken of you the other night were uncalled for and crossed the line in my book. The sooner this all blows over the better."

"Amy has offered to call in some favors as well, to get the photographers to back off, if need be," Bobby mentioned. He hated to think that he couldn't handle this by himself, but was quickly coming to the realization that in this instance, he needed all the help he could get.

"We may take her up on that if they continue after I talk to them," Moran said.

"What about Eames, sir," Bobby asked Ross.

"Eames?"

"Yes, sir. With me on vacation she doesn't have a partner. You'll take care of her," Bobby asked Captain Ross.

"Yes. Several others on the squad have put in for vacation; I'll have her rotate around with them while you're out."

"Thank you, sir," Bobby said gratefully. "Is that all?"

"Yes, Detective," Chief Moran answered. "You're dismissed."

Bobby left the Captain's office and walked over to his desk. Sighing, he sat down and quickly put things in order. He signed off a few folders that were sitting in the center of his desk, then looked through the drawers to see if there was anything he might need while he was out. He scanned the top of his desk one last time. His eyes came to rest on the photo frame that Trey had given him. He picked it up and studied the photos, a small smile playing across his mouth as he remembered that day. Rising from his desk, he pushed in his chair and left the squad room, taking the pictures with him.

Across the Brooklyn Bridge, a postal worker was busy emptying a mailbox in front of a hardware store. She carefully dumped the contents into a large receptacle inside her truck, making sure that no stray pieces of mail escaped and fell onto the ground. She checked the inside of the large blue mailbox carefully, double checking to ensure there were no letters or postcards caught in the drop slot. She replaced the small basket into the bottom of the mailbox, locked it, got back in her truck and drove to the next box on her route.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

When Bobby got home, he quickly shed his suit for jeans and a tee-shirt. He padded barefoot into the kitchen where he grabbed a beer. He settled on the sofa in the living room, his long legs stretched out in front of him and propped up on the coffee table. He took a long pull of his beer, opened the photo album and began to study the pictures inside.

The first set of pictures hit him hard in the gut. Amy's neat handwriting told him that her roommate, Michelle, had insisted on taking a picture of Amy once a month throughout her pregnancy. She was wearing a very modest bra and briefs in each photo. The changes her body underwent over the course of the pregnancy stunned Bobby. He realized that she had chosen to do this; she could have very easily gotten an abortion, but instead she had opted to have the baby and to raise him. Bobby had seen pregnant women before, but never like this, and never one carrying his child.

He read her brief diary; saw a few pictures of her with her sorority sisters at a baby shower in her honor, and one of her in bed in the labor room.

The pictures of Trey right after he was born brought tears to his eyes. There was Amy, beaming as she held the small boy in her arms. Patty, AJ, Michelle and Amy's grandparents all had pictures in the album showing each holding Trey for the first time.

"I should have my picture in here, too," Bobby thought. He was surprised to find that he wasn't as angry as he thought he would be. Instead, he was sad, empty almost, at what he had missed out on. He understood more and more the reasons behind Amy's decision, but was still not totally sure he could forgive her yet, in spite of his growing physical attraction for her. If he was going to have a shot at a true serious relationship with her again, none of what happened in the last 25 years should matter. All that would have to be important would be the here and now and the future. He would have to be willing to forgive, to not be bothered by what he missed out on and how differently his life could have been.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Bobby kept flipping through the album, taking in the milestones documented by the photographs in front of him. Trey screaming during a bath in an infant tub; dressed in a suit for his christening; smiling for the camera; being read to by AJ; sitting up unaided for the first time. His first time in a high chair, first time to be fed baby food, first tooth; crawling, pulling up, standing and walking were all carefully documented and described in detail.

Amy had included funny anecdotes about some of the pictures which had him chuckling and smiling. Some photos were so sweet and tender they brought more tears to his eyes. Each birthday was documented; the first day of school; his best friends; holidays, vacations, summers in Utica and travels in Europe: enough to fully document Trey's life without being overly detailed. One spread had monthly photos taken of him during his first year of life; Bobby was amazed at how much one human being could grow in a year's time. Another spread had each of his school photos side-by-side, clearly labeled. Again, Bobby marveled at the changes as his little boy grew into manhood.

Now there were pictures of Trey in a baseball uniform, learning to drive, going on his first date, his first formal school dance, escorting a beautiful young lady at a debutante ball and high school graduation. Soon, photos of Laura joined the photos of Trey, and Bobby studied these especially carefully. This was the young woman who had given him his grandson and he was saddened once more by the tragic loss of her life at such a young age. He was taken by her beauty and could understand why Trey loved her immensely. She gave off an inner beauty that shined through the photos before him; photos of Trey and Laura at the beach, at Coney Island, skiing, dancing at a college formal and sitting on Amy's sofa. There were even wedding pictures, some of Trey and Laura by themselves and with their families, some of them together and some of the whole new larger family that had been formed by their union. Again, Bobby found himself wishing he could have been there, thinking once more that he should be in some of those photos.

How could all of this have happened almost in front of him without him noticing? New York was big, but not that big, considering all the newspapers and tabloids decorating the newsstands, reporting every detail of the lives of the rich and elite. But, Bobby never read those, he reminded himself. Maybe if he had, he would have noticed? What if he had paid a little more attention to Eames's love of the gossip rags and less attention to the latest issue of Smithsonian magazine? What if he had known all along and had married Amy? Would he even be a police detective, or would he be a famous winery owner, spending his nights hobnobbing with the upper crust? Being one of the upper crust? Would he be as satisfied with his life?

He set the album aside and went back to the kitchen for another beer, dropping his empty bottle into the recycling bin. He took another bottle out of the refrigerator and downed the cold wet contents completely before stopping. He tossed that one into the recycling bin and was reaching for a third when he heard a knock on his front door.

Trey was standing in the hall outside Bobby's door. His eyes were red and he was wobbling slightly. Bobby was taken aback, and quickly pulled the young man inside. He shut the door and led Trey over to the couch and gently pushed him down by the shoulders. Bobby sat in front of him on the coffee table and waited.

"I….uh….I….uh….oh, hell," Trey said. He began sobbing, great massive sobs that shook his shoulders hard. "I….." Trey was trying to speak through his sobs, but Bobby was unable to understand much more than "I" and "Laura".

Bobby rose from the coffee table and went to the bathroom. He ran a face cloth under cold water and gently squeezed it until it was damp. He grabbed a box of tissues off the counter and returned to the living room.

Settling in next to Trey on the couch, he handed his son the wet cloth and put the box of tissues on the table in front of him. Then he waited.

Trey held the cold damp cloth to his face and continued to sob. Slowly, the sobbing subsided to sniffs and snorts and the occasional hiccup. Finally, he raised his head and apologized to Bobby. Then he grabbed several tissues and blew his nose and wiped his eyes. Composure regained, he turned and looked at Bobby.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

Bobby placed a gentle hand on the young man's shoulder. "Apology not necessary. I cried quite a bit after my mom died last year. It's normal."

"You didn't show up on your brother's doorstep, did you?"

Bobby snorted. "No. He only wanted money. It didn't matter much to him that she was dead. But that's not why you came here, was it?"

"No. Today…" Trey stopped and sniffed again. "Today was, was, was Laura's birthday." More sobs began to wrack his body, and Bobby wrapped his arm around Trey and held him gently, letting the young man cry, hurting for him and feeling his pain. Tears threatened his own eyes as fresh hurt from his mother's death bubbled to the surface. He took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure before he spoke.

"I – I – I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to say." Bobby reached forward and grabbed a tissue out of the box. "Here," he said, handing it to Trey.

"Thanks," Trey responded. He used the tissue, then wadded it in his fist. "She would have been 24 today. I was going to surprise her with the pool, and new landscaping in the front yard of our house out in the Hamptons. I still can't believe she's gone."

Bobby picked up the photo album and placed it on Trey's lap. "You're mom gave me this this morning. I was just looking at the pictures of you and Laura. She was very pretty. It's obvious you loved her very much; it shows in the photos. Would you tell me about them? Please?"

Trey looked at his father and smiled sadly. "Sure. I'd love to."

The two men spent the next several hours together on the sofa, heads bent over the photos that had been so lovingly placed in the album by Amy. After going over the photos of Laura and Trey together, ending with Hudson being born and his first birthday, Trey had flipped back to the beginning of the album, asking Bobby about the summer he and Amy had spent together in Germany. Trey shared some of his memories and thoughts about the photos Amy had chosen for the album, and the two men began to make up for 24 years of lost time.

After they had discussed all the photos, Bobby realized he was hungry. Looking at his watch, he took note that it was three in the afternoon and he hadn't had lunch.

"Trey, are you hungry," Bobby asked. "I haven't had any lunch today, and I'm starving."

"No; I was with Laura's folks for lunch today. I came straight here afterwards. I was really upset and hurting and didn't want to go home, so I….I came here. I hope that was alright?"

"Of course it was alright," Bobby stated emphatically. "I'm your father; why wouldn't it be alright for you to come to me when you need to?"

"I don't know; because I don't know you very well?"

"Don't let that stop you. I'm here for you, okay? Whenever you need me, day or night, I'll be here for you. A case at work might stop me from being available right away, but please know that I will always do what I can to help you. You came along at a good time, you know that?"

Trey shook his head.

"I was at a very low place," Bobby said. He shared with Trey all that had happened to him in the past year: his mother's death, his brother's overdose and murder at the hands of Nicole Wallace, Declan Gage's betrayal, and the truth about his father. When he finished, Trey just stared at him.

"Wow. And I thought I had problems," Trey replied.

"Having Amy show up, learning about you and being able to help you out really helped me out. Finding out I had family who needed me and appreciated me, who I could help without ridicule or scorn was a new experience for me. It's nice to be appreciated and respected."

"I'm sorry you had it so rough growing up," Trey said softly.

Bobby waved him off, then stood and re-extended his earlier invitation. "Do you like Italian? There's a great place around the corner; I go there a lot. The veal parmesan is out of this world." Bobby looked pleadingly at Trey. It wasn't just that he was hungry for food; he was hungry for more contact with his son and fearful that the young man would leave too soon.

Trey relented and went with Bobby to Sal's. Trey drank a glass of iced tea while Bobby ate and the two continued to enjoy their conversation. When the subject of baseball came up, the conversation got boisterous as the two men, both avid Mets fans, began to loudly recount and nearly re-enact all of their favorite moments in Mets history. The enjoyment finally came to an end when Trey realized that he had been away from the house long enough and really did need to return home. Both men were now excitedly looking forward to their Monday night steak dinner.

**Monday morning**

When the mail arrived at the New York Offices of the Wainwright Estates Winery, Samantha was there to receive it. She dutifully sorted it into separate piles: correspondence for Trey, correspondence for Amy, and everything else, which she dealt with. Trey's mail went onto his desk and Amy's went onto hers. Samantha attended to sorting the junk mail, paying the bills, and tossing the junk mail. She also handled all the general mail, passing it on to either Trey or Amy or handling it herself, based on the contents.

Amy began to flip idly through the mail that Samantha had placed on her desk. It had been waiting for her when she arrived back from a business lunch. There was the usual assortment of thank you's, requests for the winery to participate in one event or another, overseas business, and trade publications.

One envelope fell to the floor. It was a plain, white, business-sized envelope, addressed to her in neat block handwriting that made her pause and stare at it when she picked it up. She began to get an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach as she stood completely upright and moved to her chair to sit down.

She opened the envelope carefully and unfolded the single sheet of paper. This time, the letter was typed, but its meaning was clear: The Foundation was being disrespectful of minorities and would have to pay. The writer was angrier than before, as the body of the letter was laced with harsh language.

_Dear Mrs. Wainwright,_

_I have been studying the groups that get money from your foundation. Most of them already get lots of money from other places and don't need yours. Why don't you give more money to really poor groups run by black people? You just give money to the groups run by your equally rich friends so you can all look good for each other and get your names and pictures in the paper. _

_You need to be taught a lesson._

_I understand you will be having your gala fundraiser, A Night on Broadway, this year to raise funds for the Wainwright Foundation. It would be really bad if something horrible were to happen to stop it._

_If you don't start giving money to minorities and really deserving groups, there will be a terrible accident at the gala._

Amy stared at the letter. The ringing of her phone caused her to jump in her chair and she was slightly out of breath as she answered.

"Amy," the man's voice spoke her name questioningly.

"Oh, hi, Daddy," Amy said.

"Are you all right," AJ asked, concern filling his voice.

"What? Oh, yes, I'm all right. I was just in the middle of something and got so wrapped up that the phone startled me when it rang," Amy said with a nervous chuckle. She absent mindedly pushed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. "So, what do you want," she said, smiling warmly as she spoke.

"I was wanting to see if my best girl was free for dinner tonight. Your mom is going to be babysitting Hudson while Trey and Bobby are having dinner tonight, so I thought I'd see if you'd like to go out on a date with your old man."

"I'd love to, Daddy! You know I can never turn down a dinner invitation from you. Especially if you're buying."

"I am," AJ responded with a laugh.

The two made their dinner plans as Amy shoved the letter back into its envelope and dropped into her bottom desk drawer. By the time she had hung up the phone, her spirits had been lifted and the letter forgotten.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 **

_A/N: I know I said I was leaving canon with Chapter 9, but I need to digress to Monday morning and touch on what happened to Eames, with a slight nod to Logan and Wheeler to round out the action. Then, off to new adventures!_

When Eames walked into the squad room on Monday morning, something just felt off. She couldn't quite put her finger on it immediately, except that the place just, well, _felt _different. Bobby always told her that she should go with her feelings, so she let them lead her as she studied the area.

Her desk had a few more folders on it; that was never unusual for Monday morning, or any morning, for that matter. She studied her desk further, and noticed that there was no coffee waiting for her; that could mean her partner wasn't here yet, or that he was here, but just hadn't fixed her coffee yet. She kept on looking; now directing her careful scrutiny to Bobby's desk. It was clean. Too clean, she realized.

She walked around to Bobby's side of the desk and surveyed the scene. There were no folders waiting for him like there were for her; there was no coffee cup, no leather binder, no pictures of Bobby with Hudson. The pictures; they were gone. She turned in the direction of the Captain's office when the door opened and Ross stuck his head out.

"Eames, would you come here, please." Somehow, when Ross asked anyone to come into his office, it never sounded like a question, even though it was.

She entered the office and quietly closed the door behind her. "You wanted to see me, Captain?"

"Yes," Ross replied, sitting down in his chair. "Sit down, please," he told her, waving at the chairs in front of his desk as he did so.

"Your partner is going on extended leave, as of today." He looked down and shuffled some papers on his desk. "You're not going to be reassigned just yet. I'd like you to rotate through the squad as others are out."

He looked up to see her staring at him. "You're a Senior Detective; you should be able to handle working with all the other detectives in this squad."

"Yes, sir. It's just, well…" She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "What about Bobby, sir?"

Ross looked up. "Goren will be fine; you'll be back as his regular partner when he returns."

"When will that be?"

"When his vacation time is all used up."

"Sir."

Ross ignored her, not looking up from the paperwork.

"Captain," Eames said louder and more agitated.

Ross sighed. "Detective, your partner volunteered to go on vacation for as long as it takes for him to use it up. He felt it was in the best interest of the department right now, in light of what happened in the papers over the weekend. The Chief of Detectives and I happened to agree with him. Do you have any more questions?" Ross was equally as agitated, and it was reflected in his voice.

"No, sir," Eames answered. "Do you want me to check up on him while he's out?"

"You will, even if I order you not to."

"Yes, sir. I'll keep you posted," Alex said and she stood up and left the Captain's office.

_So, that explains the empty desk and the absence of the pictures. I wonder if it was really Bobby's idea, or if he was pressured into it?_ Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a messenger from the forensics lab. The young lady was bearing a stack of results that Eames had been waiting for. Alex signed the clipboard and took the sheaf of pages from the young lady's hand, thanking her as she did. She sat down at her desk, took one last look at the empty desk across from her, sighed, and turned her full attention to the lab results in front of her. Another busy week had begun for Senior Detective Alexandra Eames of the NYPD's Major Case Squad.

Across the room from Alex sat the paired desks of another detective partnership, that of Megan Wheeler and Mike Logan. Mike had been brought in from Staten Island at the insistence of former MCS Captain James Deakins and he had quickly become an asset to the squad and a good friend to Bobby Goren. Currently, Logan and Wheeler were embroiled in a high-profile case involving a man proclaiming his innocence and wrongful imprisonment and another prisoner making a death-bed confession. The prison chaplain involved was very hesitant to come forth and reveal what he had heard and a power-hungry ADA was making life miserable for the two detectives.

Over the weekend, the priest had been stabbed by an inmate and nearly died. Logan was suspecting the malicious ADA was behind the arrest, but had no proof. He was quickly becoming disillusioned by the whole affair and seriously considering leaving police work altogether.

About mid-morning, as he was headed to the break room for yet another cup of lousy coffee, Mike noticed Alex sitting by herself, her partner's desk strangely empty, almost vacant-like.

"Hey, Alex," Mike said as he stopped next to her desk. "Your partner out hunting bad guys while you're stuck here doing paperwork?"

Alex looked up at Mike. She liked the gruff detective with his big brown eyes and rough manner and wondered what it would be like to be partnered with him on a case. She and Bobby had briefly worked with Logan and his former partner Carolyn Barek on a case involving a corrupt judge and his equally despicable son and had grown to respect him as a detective.

"No, he's on vacation. Laying low after the run-in with the paparazzi and a sleaze-ball journalist over the weekend."

"Oh, the article in the Post, huh," Logan commented. "I saw that. Nice bit on his career, lousy on the rest of it. So, you, uh, have any idea when he's coming back?"

"No, the Captain didn't say; just said he was taking his vacation days."

"That long, huh," Mike said with his characteristic lop-sided grin. "We might never see him again."

"No, he'll be back. He can't stay away from this place; it's his life," Alex said confidently. She flashed a quick grin at Logan, then returned her attention to the pile of papers on the desk in front of her.

Logan considered what Alex had told him as he refilled his coffee cup and returned to his desk. Goren could be gone quite a long time; he had a lot of vacation days he could use. This current case was really getting to Logan, and he wasn't sure how much more of the political garbage he could take. His joy for police work was rapidly slipping away and he was beginning to wonder what else there was for him in this life. He was toying with the idea of walking away and starting fresh and the knowledge that Eames was in need of a partner would mean that Wheeler wouldn't be partner-less herself for long. He kept that thought to himself as he and Megan turned their attention back towards getting an innocent man out of prison.

Bobby and Trey met at Mason's in Brooklyn at 7 that night for their steak dinner. They had originally planned on meeting Saturday night, but Bobby's run in with The Post had caused them to change their plans. Trey couldn't pass up the opportunity to tease Bobby some more about his poker playing abilities, or to point out to the waitress just exactly why they were there. Everyone laughed, setting the tone for the evening.

After their food arrived, Trey got up the nerve to ask how Bobby's meeting with his Captain and the Chief of Detectives had gone.

"Short version," Bobby asked between bites of steak.

Trey nodded.

"I'm going to be using up all of my vacation days. Hopefully, things will have died down in the press by the time I go back to work."

"How many days will you be off," Trey asked.

"75," Bobby said. It was so soft, Trey wasn't sure he heard him right.

"What," Trey gasped, struggling not to choke on his beer. "You have 75 days of vacation piled up?" His eyes were wide with disbelief as he said this.

"Yes," Bobby said sheepishly.

"Do you mean you've never taken a day off in your whole career?" Trey was incredulous. He loved his job, but not taking days off was unheard of; he relished his days off to spend with Laura and Hudson.

"When I've had to, yes. I just never had much of a reason to take off."

Trey did the math quickly in his head. "So, you're hoping that being off for the next 15 weeks will help straighten everything out?"

Bobby shrugged. He hadn't thought about how long he would be away from the squad room until Trey mentioned it. Now it hit him hard that he'd be off for nearly four months.

"Are you sure you can keep yourself occupied for four months? Won't you miss being at work?"

"I'll miss it. I love being a detective; it's pretty much all I know. But, after all the problems I've had this past year and the trouble I've gotten into, along with this current mess, I think it's for the best."

"Does Mom know," Trey asked next.

"No. I haven't seen or talked to her since Saturday morning."

"What's going on between the two of you, anyway," Trey asked, changing the subject suddenly and catching Bobby off guard.

Bobby studied the young man across the table from him as he thoughtfully chewed and considered his answer. He decided to answer Trey's question with one of his own.

"What do you mean?" Bobby knew what Trey had seen happen between him and Amy, but wanted to know what he was thinking.

"I've seen the way you look at her. Friday night, you looked like you'd been hit in the face with a frying pan when you saw Mom in that purple dress," Trey commented. He paused and took another swig of his beer as Bobby just stared at him.

"I also noticed the sparks flying between you two when you bumped into her at the bottom of the stairs," Trey said next, his eyebrows raised as he looked at Bobby.

Bobby chased his bit of food with a rather large swig of his own beer before he responded. "Physical attraction is not enough to base a meaningful long-term relationship on," he stated strongly.

"Yes, but it's a start, isn't it," Trey said, purposefully goading and pushing his dad further.

"Now, don't you start trying to play matchmaker between your mother and me," Bobby scolded. "There's been a lot of time passed since we've been together. A lot of hurt and resentment. We can't just pick up where we left off like nothing ever happened in the last twenty-five years."

"But, do you want to?"

"Pick back up where we left off," Bobby asked.

Trey nodded and pushed aside his finished plate.

"I don't know." Bobby sighed. That was the question that had been plaguing him for the last several weeks. Maybe verbalizing his thoughts would help him to sort them out.

"We're still feeling each other out right now; trying to decide for ourselves what we want. I do think I want to try. To really get to know her again and see what happens. I'm just not sure about her yet."

"What about our lifestyle," Trey asked quietly. "We're fairly low-key and very private, but we are out in the public and they do watch us and scrutinize us. Are you ready for that?"

"It's a concern; one I've thought about a lot in the past few days. It's why I'm still undecided. Trey," Bobby said, shifting in his chair and pushing his own plate aside. He leaned forward on his arms and continued. "If things are going to work out to where your mother and I can be more than just good friends, nothing else but her has to matter to me. Not the past, not the present, not even what may or may not happen in the future. It has to be all about her, just the way she is, right now. Do you know what I mean?"

Trey nodded as he responded. "Yes. That's how it was with me and Laura. I loved her in spite of and because of everything she was and everything she did. Every day I was with her I fell more and more in love with her."

"That's how I felt about your mother when we were together. Everything more I learned about her and experienced with her caused me to care for her and like her even more. That's why I have to be careful. I have to be sure. We hurt each other a lot that fall." Bobby let his last statement hang in the air while he looked for their waitress to signal for the check. He wondered if Trey was astute enough to pick up on it.

He was.

"How did you hurt Mom," Trey asked. He was clearly puzzled by Bobby's last remark and it showed on his expressive face. "She's the one that broke up with you."

"I didn't go after her. She ended it over the phone that night and I just accepted it. Her feelings were so strong and I only ever wanted her to be happy, so I let her go. I thought it was truly what she wanted; that not being married to me would allow her to have the happy life she wanted. If I had only listened harder, I might have heard in her voice that she didn't really want to do what she was doing. I had plenty of opportunity to leave Germany and go the states to confront her. I didn't, because I loved her so much that if being without me would make her happy, then that's what she would get."

The waitress arrived with their check just then, and Bobby realized he had been babbling, so he stopped talking and quietly paid the check.

"You need to tell her," Trey urged quietly but firmly.

Bobby stared off across the restaurant for a few moments before he answered. "Would it make a difference?"

"I don't know. Why don't you follow me back to the house and find out?"

Bobby looked uncertainly at Trey. "Now? You want me to go back and tell her all that now?"

Trey nodded. "Why not? No time like the present." He looked at his watch. "She and Grandpa should be back from dinner by now. Let's go."

Bobby resolutely followed Trey out of the restaurant and got in his car. All the way to Trey's home, he thought of a million reasons why he shouldn't be doing this, and one reason why he should: He owed it to her. She really did deserve to know the truth, and if they were going to give their relationship another serious go, then they needed to be completely and honestly open with one another.

His thoughts turned to Saturday and the kiss that had happened before he left. The urge to give her a gentle kiss as a thank you for the photo album was on impulse; his response and the power of the kiss that had resulted was totally unexpected and had affected him deeply. It had shaken him to the core that he could have such strong physical feelings for someone, yet not feel desperate to pursue them to their logical end. It was strange and new, yet very appealing.

They arrived to sheer and utter chaos at Trey's house. Amy, Patty, Hudson and AJ were all in the kitchen. AJ was cleaning up a very smelly mess from the floor. The odor that greeted Bobby and Trey was putrid and smelled like vomit. Amy was frustrated at her attempts to dial the phone, Hudson was wailing loudly, and Patty was desperately trying to remove the toddler's soiled clothing.

"What happened," Trey said loudly.

"Oh, Trey," Amy exclaimed, dropping the phone onto the table and rushing to him. "Your grandfather and I arrived home just in time to see Hudson throwing up here in the kitchen. Mom says he's been running a fever, too."

Trey hurried to the kitchen sink to help Patty. She had set the young boy into the large sink in an attempt to contain the mess. Just as he reached out to stroke his son's head, Hudson sobbed loudly, retched and vomited again, this time all down the front of Trey's shirt. The child began to cry again, this time calling for his mommy and threatening to cause all the adults to start crying.

Bobby stepped over to AJ and began to help him clean up by wiping the top of the kitchen table. Amy resumed sopping stray vomit up from the floor. Trey peeled off his shirt and dropped it into the sink, then deftly peeled off Hudson's clothes.

"Goodness, Grandma! He's burning up," Trey exclaimed as his hands rubbed the boy's back. "When did this start?"

"I realized shortly after you left that he was running a fever. It was only 99.8, but just recently shot up to 102. I was about to call you when Amy and AJ got back and then Hudson started throwing up. Poor thing, he's just miserable," Patty said, still fussing over her grandson.

Trey spoke softly to his son as he gently wiped the child's hot skin with a cool rag. He cleaned Hudson's face and chest, removed the rest of the boy's dirty clothing and wiped down his legs. Trey fussed and cooed as he did so, gradually soothing the upset boy and calming him down. Hudson retched a few more times during all this, but did not vomit. Trey was hopeful that the boy's stomach was now empty and he could rest quietly and comfortably during the night.

Trey gently lifted the boy out of the sink and held him to his chest, stroking the small back as he held him lovingly in his arms. Hudson continued to sob intermittently as he laid his head on his father's shoulder and wrapped his arms around Trey. Gradually, the boy's breathing evened out and his little body became fully relaxed.

Bobby walked over to the side of the kitchen where Trey was standing and swaying back and forth with Hudson. He gently ran his hand across the boy's forehead several times and looked at him sympathetically. "Are you all right, Little Man?" "Little Man" had become Bobby's pet name for his grandson.

Hudson's big blue eyes looked at Bobby. "Boppy," he said softly and reached his arm out to touch Bobby.

Bobby smiled lovingly at him then looked at Trey. "Do you need any help tonight? I can stay," he offered.

"Don't you have to go to work in the morning," Amy hurriedly asked. Bobby's presence in the kitchen and his gentle way with Hudson had not gone unnoticed by her. His nearness was strangely unsettling to her and she was half-hoping he would need to leave. His answer was surprising and unexpected.

"I'm not going to work in the morning," he stated simply.

Amy looked at him curiously. She raised her eyebrows at him, but said nothing.

"Do you have somewhere we can go talk, privately," Bobby asked her.

She said nothing, but moved out of Trey's kitchen and towards the back hall. They made their way in silence to Amy's, where she led him into her living room.

He moved quietly to her cabinets and helped himself to a large glass of scotch. When he turned to look at her, she simply said, "Brandy, please."

Bobby deftly poured the brandy into a snifter sitting on the tray then carried both drinks to the sofa. He placed hers on the table in front of him, seated himself on the sofa and watched her as he sipped his scotch. She was moving nervously around the room, touching objects and fiddling with knickknacks. Finally, she turned towards the sofa and faced Bobby.

"Okay, so talk."

Bobby patted the sofa next to him. "Come sit with me," he said.

She went to the sofa and sat down stiffly. Bobby gently handed her the snifter and she took a small sip, being extra careful not to make eye contact with him.

"I'm not going into work in the morning because I volunteered to take my vacation now and let the mess with the press blow over," he said softly. "Captain Ross agrees with me that it would be in the best interest of the department and it seemed to get me somewhat back on better terms with the Chief of Detectives."

Amy still said nothing, but took another sip of her brandy. She couldn't bring herself to relax and was still sitting stiffly on the couch, her back ramrod straight and her eyes looking everywhere in the room but at Bobby.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Bobby studied Amy carefully as she took yet another sip of her brandy. He took in her stiff posture and sighed inwardly. Something had happened over the weekend. Something had changed dramatically between them since they shared that wonderful kiss on Saturday morning, and he was determined to find out what it was.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out to rub his hand gently up and down her back in long, smooth strokes. "Talk to me. Please?"

Amy said nothing and continued to stare at a picture hanging on the wall in front of her.

Bobby sighed. He decided to try again, this time using a tactic that always worked when they were dating and he knew she wasn't telling him everything. "Aaaa-meeee." He drew her name out in a soft sing-song tone and continued to softly stroke her back.

"Why aren't you going to work in the morning," Amy asked softly. She was surprised at his answer.

"I offered to take my vacation days now and let all this mess with the press die down."

"I'm sorry you have to go through all this. I was hoping they wouldn't target you. I guess I should have known better." Amy's voice was regretful, although her posture was still stiff and defensive. At least she's talking to me, Bobby thought.

"I owe you an apology, too." That made Amy turn her head suddenly and look sharply at him.

"What could you possibly have to apologize to me for? I'm the one that kept your child from you for twenty-five years!"

"Yes, you did," Bobby said seriously. "But I pressed the issue all those years ago and seduced ]you."

"I didn't exactly spurn your advances, so no apology necessary for that." Amy shifted on the couch so that she could face him directly and tucked her left leg up under her.

"You didn't want to be seriously involved with someone in the military. I wasn't about to give that up back then."

"True, but I knew you were a soldier the night I met you. You were in your uniform, remember?" Amy smiled softly at him; she decided this could be fun and hoped he would continue.

"I remember," Bobby said, a smile playing on his lips. "I was also a cop. Did you want to be dating a cop?"

"I wanted a summer diversion," Amy said honestly.

Her answer surprised Bobby. He hadn't ever really taken into consideration what she had wanted out of their relationship all those many years ago. From the moment he had seen her, he had wanted her. "I'm sorry I never asked you what you wanted."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I never considered why you were dating me. I only knew you were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen and I just had to have you."

Amy was stunned by his comment and felt her cheeks flush. She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa and sat quietly gathering her thoughts before she spoke again. "Like I said that night on the phone, all those years ago, we never really talked about the future. I had no idea what you wanted and I had never told you how I really felt."

"You knew having sex with me would change things."

"Only to a certain degree. I never expected to get pregnant."

Bobby gave her a wry look at that comment and blushed faintly. "I'm sorry my condom was defective," he said sheepishly.

Amy laughed. "Now, THAT you can accept full responsibility for. Apology accepted." She gave him a small nod and lifted her glass in salute before taking a sip.

Bobby smiled in relief. "Any regrets?"

"About keeping Trey? No. About not telling you? Some. About you finding out and being back in my life? I'm not sure."

Bobby didn't know how to respond, so he sat quietly and sipped his scotch.

"Were you in love with me?" Amy caught Bobby off guard with her question.

"Absolutely."

"Then why didn't you tell me," Amy implored. Her eyes were as expressive as ever and Bobby could see the hurt and anguish in them. "Why?"

"I don't know," Bobby said sadly. He ran his hand over his face and through his hair. "I honestly don't know. That night you broke up with me, I tried to summon up the courage to say it, but I heard all the emotions in your voice, and knew you had made your mind up. I could tell that nothing I said at that moment would change the fact that you were breaking up with me. I realized in that moment that I loved you so much and only wanted you to be happy. If breaking up with me would bring you happiness, I had to let you go."

"Oh, Bobby," Amy breathed. "I wish you had said something."

"Would it have made a difference?"

"It might have. I chickened out on telling you because in that moment, I honestly believed that you would be better off without a wife and child. That you could pursue your career and be really good at it if I wasn't a burden to you." Amy choked back the tears and fell silent.

Bobby reached out and pushed her hair away from her face and gently tucked it behind her ear. His heart ached as he watched a lone tear break free and run down her cheek. He heard her sniff and waited, sensing she had something else left to say.

"Why didn't you come after me," Amy asked. She had needed to ask him that question for so long, but only now realized it as she gave it voice. She listened intently for his answer. Any decisions she made about him from here on out would hinge on his answer.

Bobby looked long and hard at her as he formulated his response. He knew she had every right to know; he'd been thinking about it ever since Trey had asked him earlier that evening.

"Hope, respect and stupidity," he stated simply. He took another sip of his scotch and explained his answer. "Hope that you would realize you had made a mistake, pick the phone back up and call me, begging for my forgiveness and saying you were wrong to break up with me. Hope that you would change your mind and come to Germany for Christmas break as originally planned.

"Respect for your decision and your feelings. I didn't feel it was my place to convince you otherwise.

"Stupidity for not realizing I should fight for what I wanted and to hell with your feelings and my respect for them. Stupidity for not hopping on the first plane to Houston as soon as I had a day off and going to College Station to hunt you down and convince you to change your mind. Stupidity for not telling you I loved you on the phone that night."

Amy was in awe at his answer. It was not at all what she had expected, but it was obvious that he had given a lot of thought to the question. She took her time considering what he had said and what it would mean to her from here on out, and decided she should come clean and be completely open and honest with him. She looked down at the glass in her hands when she finally spoke.

"I fell in love with you, too," she said, in a voice so soft he had to strain to hear it.

Neither one spoke for a while after that as they each took in what the other had just revealed. The silence that began to envelope them was not deafening but comfortable; they had reached a quiet understanding in which words were no longer necessary for now. Amy finished off her brandy and turned to look at Bobby.

"Can I get you another," she asked, indicating his now empty glass of scotch.

Bobby looked down at the empty tumbler in his hands. "No, thank you," he answered. He looked up and saw Trey quietly enter the room. "Hi, Trey. Do you need something?"

Amy turned on the sofa and looked at Trey. "How's Hudson?"

"He's asleep, finally. He had another round of diarrhea before the medicine kicked in and knocked him out. Thanks for your help tonight, Mom."

Amy smiled warmly. "I just hope this is a 24-hour bug and he's feeling better soon. I never did like it when you were sick, and I don't like seeing my grandson sick, either."

"I know, Mom. It's not fun." Trey smiled ruefully. "I'm not sure I should be going with you tomorrow night. I don't want to ask Mrs. Mitchell to watch Hudson when he's sick, and I don't think it would be fair to Grams and Grampa either. I'm sorry."

"I understand, honey. I didn't want to leave you with anyone when you were sick, either. Don't worry about a thing. Samantha will be there and I'm sure I can get several others in the office to help as well. You just focus on your sick son."

"This was so much easier when Laura was here," Trey said sadly, tears welling in his eyes. He took a deep breath and composed himself.

"Well, good night," Trey said. "I need to get to back home so I can keep an eye on Hudson and try to get some sleep myself. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a long day." He smiled ruefully and ran his hand through his hair in a gesture that Amy realized with jolt was exactly like Bobby. Trey leaned over the back of the couch and kissed his mom on the cheek and smiled softly at her. She lovingly caressed his cheek and smiled back.

"I love you, Trey."

"I love you, too, Mom."

Trey reached out his hand to Bobby. "Good night, Bobby. I had a great time at dinner tonight."

"Me, too, Trey," Bobby replied, shaking his hand. "I'm sorry about Hudson. I hope he's feeling better in the morning."

Bobby and Amy watched Trey leave the room and heard his footsteps fading away as he headed down the hall.

"He's a fine young man," Bobby said. He reached out and took Amy's glass from her hand, then rose and put the glasses back on the bar.

"Yes, he is," Amy replied. "It won't be easy for him now, but as long as he knows he has his family and Mrs. Mitchell, I think he'll be fine."

"He has me now, too," Bobby said as he turned back around.

"And you," Amy said with a smile. "Thank you."

Bobby leaned back against the bar, resting his hips on the edge. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. She was older now, he could clearly see that, but just as beautiful as the day he met her. The passage of time had been very kind to her and it was obvious she took good care of herself, but was not preserved, as he liked to think of the rich socialites who would stop at nothing to halt the progression of age on their bodies. She wasn't botoxed or otherwise surgically altered, but was just a stunningly beautiful woman. And, he realized, he wanted her just as much today as he did the first day he saw her.

Amy watched the play of emotions in his eyes. While his face remained impassive, a trick she was sure he had perfected over many years of interrogating suspects, his eyes were still the window to his soul, and she could still read him like a book. He wanted her. She watched that come into his eyes as he studied her and felt her breath catch and her heart rate quicken. Now was not the time or place; she still hadn't sorted out the revelations in the conversation they just had. She owed him the decency to have her thoughts and feelings sorted out before she acted any further on the physical sensations and sexual tensions that had been building up between them over the past month.

A month. Had it really been a month since she walked into that squad room, angry as a mother bear intent on protecting her cub and assaulted him? She tried vainly to stifle a laugh as she realized how she must have appeared to all who saw her that day.

"What's so funny," Bobby asked, suddenly perplexed by this dramatic change in Amy.

"I'm sorry," she said, as her giggles became laughter. "It – it just hit me that it's been a month since I stormed into your squad room and attacked you for arresting Trey. I suddenly had an image in my head of how I must have looked to everyone and it struck me as funny." She began to laugh even harder.

Bobby smiled broadly and chuckled. "You were quite a site. I swear there was fire in your eyes and smoke coming out of your ears. I have never seen such fury in a woman like that before. And remind me to never be on the receiving end of your purse swings again!" He too, succumbed to the laughter that suddenly built inside him as he recalled seeing her again for the first time in the squad room. "I thought Captain Ross was going to have me arrest you for assaulting a police officer."

"I'm still surprised he didn't. Just so you know, I had no idea I was going to react to strongly to Trey's being arrested. But there you were, the smug detective, so sure that the husband was the guilty party. I knew full well you were totally unaware as to Trey's existence, but it just blew up inside of me, that Momma Bear instinct." Amy caught her breath and stopped laughing. "I think deep down inside I knew that you were the safest one to direct my anger towards; that you wouldn't arrest me, wouldn't let me be arrested. That it would be all right to blow up at you. Did I really have smoke coming out my ears?"

Bobby nodded. "And fire in your eyes. The only thing you were missing was Medusa's snakes in your hair, and I'm not sure they weren't."

"Oh, wow. That's not the kind of impression one wants to make upon seeing an old friend after 25 years," Amy said soberly. "What did the rest of the room think?"

"They were grateful your anger was directed solely at me and not at them."

Amy let out a small half-laugh and studied him. She rose from the sofa and moved to stand in front of him. He uncrossed his feet and arms and spread his legs slightly so she could move closer to him. She gently placed her hands on his cheeks and brushed his chin and lips tenderly with her thumbs as she gazed softly into his brown eyes.

"Oh, we've been such fools, you and I, Bobby Goren. Such fools," she murmured softly. She continued on slowly. "So much pain, so much unnecessary heartache. And why? Out of respect? To protect the other's feelings? And look what it's gotten us," she scoffed and briefly shook her head. "Two sad, old people who've missed out on a lifetime of happiness and love." She studied him sadly, leaning her face side to side as she did, her thumbs still absently rubbing his lips and chin.

He kissed her thumbs and she smiled softly and closed her eyes at the gentle gesture. He wanted to speak, to say it was all right, to tell her they were far from being old, but he sensed she had more to say, and moved to place his arms loosely around her waist, resting them on the small of her back.

She moved hands from his face, and he missed the warmth of their touch on his skin. She dipped her eyes to his chest and began to smooth the fabric of his shirt across her chest with both hands. He recognized it as a sign of nervousness, so he gently pressed his hands into the small of her back as he spoke.

"Hey. Amy?" He tipped his head to the side until he could meet her gaze, then slowly brought them both back upright.

"I – it's --- nothing. I, uh, I just…..well," she took a deep breath and dove in. How he answered her next question would set the tone for the rest of her life. "Will you….I mean, uh, can you……can you forgive me, Bobby," she blurted out then averted her gaze to his chest once more.

"Can I forgive you," Bobby repeated slowly. He pulled her into his chest and felt her melt against him. _This was the crux of the matter after all, wasn't it,_ he thought to himself. _This is why she was so tense and distant earlier; she needs to know and is afraid of my answer._ He hugged her gently, recognizing instinctively that she didn't need kisses, or sex, or passion; no, what she needed, right now in this moment, was acceptance. Acceptance and love. HIS acceptance and love. Could he give it to her? His thoughts swirled around in his head as he held her against him.

_I don't want to lose this,_ he realized. _I don't want to lose this ever again. This woman is my family. We made a child together and now we have a grandchild. Her family has the potential to give me the stability I've been craving all my life, but if I can't find it in my heart to forgive her, I'll lose her again and never get her back. No matter what shape our relationship takes, I need her, and them, in my life. This is my second chance._ He began to rub his hands up and down her back, gently caressing her as he continued thinking.

He wasn't sure how long they had been standing there before he realized that the front of his shirt was wet. Amy was crying.

"Hey," he said, pushing her back gently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…oh, darn it. Amy, please, don't cry. It's okay."

She couldn't bear to look at him, was afraid of what she would see in his expressive brown eyes. Afraid that she was about to be rejected by the one man she couldn't bear to lose again. She sniffled loudly as Bobby reached out and gently caught her under the chin with his finger and brought her eyes up to his. He saw the fear in her eyes, didn't like that he had put it there, and knew immediately what his answer was. There could only be one answer that would free them both to move on from the past and into the future.

"Oh, Amy," he whispered softly, pressing his forehead to hers. "Yes. Absolutely, positively, yes, I forgive you. Can you forgive me," he asked uncertainly.

Amy pulled back and looked at him, her eyes glowing as they glistened with tears. All the heavy baggage she'd been carrying around for the last 25 years dropped from her like a lead weight as she looked into his eyes and the meaning of his words sunk deep into her soul.

"Really?"

Bobby nodded and smiled.

"Bobby," Amy cried as she flung her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly. She caught him off guard with her exuberant response and he gripped his strong arms around her even tighter. He caught her whispered "I forgive you, too," and his heart soared. He pushed himself away from the bar and hugged her, moving one hand up to cradle the back of her head as they stood tightly together, embracing not only each other, but their future.

Bobby wasn't sure how long they had stood there, clutching each other tightly, before he felt Amy's body shudder. He pushed her back just far enough to look at her face.

"Amy? You alright?"

She nodded. "I'm fine; just…relieved, you know?"

"I know," Bobby answered simply.

Amy pulled away from him to arm's length, her eyes twinkling. "I'm hungry. You know what we need?"

Bobby looked at her curiously and shook his head.

"Coffee and ice cream. Come on; I'm buying. I know this great place that's open late."

She grinned broadly at him then and pulled his arms from around her waist. She moved over to a set of bookshelves down from the bar, and turned and looked mischievously over her shoulder at him as she reached out and grabbed the tops of 2 of the books on one of the shelves.

His look turned from curious, to stunned, to surprise and excitement as she pulled the books down and the entire section of shelves silently slid outward into the room, creating a doorway into the dining room.

"Wow," Bobby exclaimed, moving over to stand next to her and study the door with great enthusiasm. She thought he looked like a little boy as he fingered the hidden doorway, running his hands over it delightedly and studying it carefully.

"You have a secret passage. It's just like something out of an old Scooby-Doo cartoon!"

Amy continued to grin at him as she explained that her grandfather and great-grandfather had loved the idea of living in a house with a secret passageway. After his father's death, her grandfather had decided to turn the opening between the living room and the dining room into a hidden doorway, much to the delight of AJ, Amy, Trey and now Bobby.

"Come on, let's go make coffee," Amy said, pushing him ahead of her into the dining room.

Bobby stopped in the dining room and turned around to look at the door.

"Let me guess, you pull the wall sconce to make it work on this side, right?"

Amy gestured with her hand that he should try it for himself.

Bobby tried the wall sconce nearest the door, but it wouldn't budge. Undaunted, he began to run his hands over the wall, determined to learn the door's secret from this side. Finally, he turned to Amy and shrugged.

"Look at the door," she said with a chuckle.

Bobby looked carefully at the door, then groaned. He reached out and pushed down a section of molding on the door itself. Quietly and smoothly the door moved in towards the dining room, stopping when it was perfectly aligned with the wall. It was then that Bobby noticed the pattern of the decorative molding on the wall that allowed the door's existence to go virtually unnoticed.

"Very clever," Bobby said. "Does it work from this side, too?"

He reached out to try pushing the molding down and open the door again when Amy grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Oh, no you don't, little boy," she teased, pulling him away. "We're going for coffee and ice cream, remember? You and Hudson can play with the door tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am," Bobby said with mock chagrin. "You make the coffee and I'll serve the ice cream."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Six a.m. came very early for Trey. It wasn't really; he normally got up that early as that was when Hudson awoke, hungry and ready for a clean diaper, plus it gave Trey plenty of time to get out the door and off to work. It just felt early because he found himself stiff and sore from sleeping in the rocking chair in his son's room. He had gone in there the night before after telling his mom and Bobby goodnight with the intent of checking on Hudson and sitting for just a few minutes to make sure his sick son was sleeping soundly. He must have drifted off.

Hudson was standing in his crib and happily calling out, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" It was a treat for the boy to find his daddy asleep in his room. Trey smiled fondly at the little boy as he stretched and rose from the chair.

"Hey there, Hudson. How you feeling this morning, Buddy? You look better," Trey observed. He smiled even broader as Hudson began to move excitedly as Trey approached the crib. He all but jumped into his daddy's arms and flung his little arms around Trey's neck, hugging him tightly, then kissing him on the cheek.

"Better," Hudson hollered.

"I can tell," Trey said with a laugh. "Let's get you changed and get me some coffee."

The sight that greeted AJ when he stopped in the doorway of Trey's kitchen was chaotic and heart wrenching, to say the least. He had decided to pop in and see if Trey needed any help with Hudson before he left for his usual weekly get-together with his military buddies.

Trey was standing at the sink, trying to rinse dishes. Hudson was clinging to his leg, whining and fussing. As AJ watched, Hudson reached up an arm and began to beat on Trey's leg, crying for juice.

"I'm sorry, Buddy. Like I said before, no juice. We have to make sure your tummy is okay before you can have anything to eat or drink." Hudson wailed louder.

"I know, I know," Trey sympathized as he continued with the dishes. "It's no fun being sick."

The wailing got louder and the beating got harder.

"Okay, Hudson. That's enough," Trey admonished sternly. "I have to get these dishes taken care of then we can go play."

AJ stepped into the kitchen and was about to offer his help when Hudson spotted him.

"Pop-pop," the child cried eagerly. He let go and ran to his great grandfather, who scooped him up and hugged him close.

"Oose, Pop-pop! Oose!"

"Sorry, Hudson. You heard your daddy; no juice for you yet."

"Eat," Hudson tried next.

"No, not yet," Trey said sternly from the sink. "Hi, Gramps."

"Hi, Trey. Looks like you could use some help. I was headed out for coffee with the boys, but I can help you out for a few minutes, if you'd like."

"Thanks," Trey said gratefully. "You are a lifesaver. I need to go upstairs and shower and get ready for the day." He turned off the water and grabbed a towel, turning to face AJ and drying his hands as he spoke. "I'd like to get some work done in my office this morning. Can you and Gram watch Hudson for a bit, please?"

"Sure thing. When does Christy get back from vacation?"

"Not soon enough. She'll be back on Monday. They get in on Saturday, but I told her she didn't have to worry about working again until Monday."

"Well, I would love to help out," AJ said, gently tickling Hudson's tummy and enjoying the little boy's reaction and giggles. "Come on, Hudson. Let's go play and give your dad a break, okay?"

"O-tay," Hudson said. "Play, play, play!" He clapped his hands in delight, and they all went upstairs.

Trey stood in the shower, his arm resting on the wall above the handle and his forehead pressed against his arm. The hot water poured over his head and down his back, washing away the discomfort of a night spent sleeping in a rocking chair, but giving rise to tears; tears of frustration and despair. He knew he had his mom, his grandparents, Christy and now Bobby to help him, but it wasn't the same without Laura to help. The last time Hudson had been sick, they had taken turns caring for him, both of them alternating working and staying home with night duties. Even Christy had spent several nights "on duty" to give them a break. It just all felt so wrong without Laura here to help him.

Soon the tears were gone and the water was cold. Trey hurriedly finished his shower, shaved and put on a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved, button front shirt. Since he was working from home today, he decided to forgo tucking in the shirt and wearing shoes. He applied a little bit of styling gel, working it through his black curls. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, mustering up the courage to face another day alone.

Amy entered the office on time and in a good mood. She was surprised at how awake she felt, considering the fact that she and Bobby were still sitting in the kitchen talking when she looked at the clock and realized that it was 4 in the morning! They were amazed at how both had been afraid to ask the other for forgiveness. Once they had, and found the other accepting and willing to forgive, the last walls between them had finally crumbled.

Over coffee and mint chocolate chip ice cream, the two had laughed and cried over memories of their summer together and the time since. Bobby had shared the emotional roller coaster that had been his first perusal of the album she had made for him about Trey and how much he had enjoyed looking through the album with him. Amy had not been aware that Trey had gone to Bobby's house after lunch with the Edwards, but was pleased that Bobby had been a source of comfort for their son.

They played catch-up as well; each telling the other about their old friends from that summer long ago. Amy told Bobby stories from her senior year in college and her experience giving birth to Trey. Bobby told of his time in Korea, meeting Declan Gage and going through the police academy. He asked about some of the pictures of Trey and Amy gladly obliged with stories and anecdotes, several guaranteed to thoroughly embarrass Trey should Bobby ever ask him about them later on.

Neither one had wanted to stop, but knew that at some point, Amy needed rest, even if only a brief nap, and had to go into the office to finish preparations for that night's event. She told Bobby all about the event: how the host was a very influential man in the New York social scene and that working at this event would provide her access to some of the top restaurants in town. She and Trey had been trying to get their wines into some of these restaurants for several years now, so success tonight was of the utmost importance.

She had offered Bobby the guest room, but he declined, saying he really needed to return to his place to do some laundry and run a few errands. Amy walked Bobby out and the two embraced in a hug that was warm and comfortable. He gave her a very short, very sweet kiss before he got in his car and drove away.

Samantha noticed Amy's good mood as soon as she walked in and asked her about it. Amy had simply smiled and inquired as to who might be available to take Trey's place at Christopher Mellon's party that night.

Christopher Mellon was a descendant of the industrial revolution Mellons and a contemporary of Amy's. Wainwright Estates was providing the wine for his fundraiser gala and the catering was being handled by several of Bobby Flay's restaurants.

Amy and Trey had been trying hard for several years to get their wines onto the lists of all the top restaurants in the city. Getting into a Bobby Flay restaurant would be a huge accomplishment for the winery. Wainwright Estates had recently been named New York's Top Local Winery by the New York Times. Tonight's event meant everything to her.

Her main tasks today were to finalize the deliveries and make sure her staff was perfectly groomed and at the top of their game.

The ringing of the phone startled her, its jarring sound rudely interrupting her train of thought as she double-checked every detail.

She groaned inwardly as she saw Christopher's name on the phone's caller ID panel. She loved him dearly, but he drove her crazy. He had been calling her nearly every day for the past two weeks, demanding her time and insisting that every wine be perfectly paired with the menu. She couldn't even begin to imagine how the chefs must be feeling as he had changed both the food and dessert menus numerous times.

"Amy," Christopher's effusive voice gushed into her ear.

"Hello, Christopher," Amy said sweetly as she glared across the hallway at Samantha. The two ladies had positioned their desks so that they could look out the door and across the hall at each other.

Samantha looked at Amy and shrugged sympathetically as she mouthed, "I'm sorry."

Amy waved her off and gave Christopher her full attention.

"Amy! You'll never guess. Never, never, never, never!" His voice rang in her ear; he continued on without giving her a chance to answer. "Trevor's here!"

Trevor was Christopher's life partner going on 20 years. He had been on the West Coast for the past month shooting a pilot for a new television series. Where Christopher was loud and flamboyant, Trevor was quiet and reserved. Amy thought they reminded her of the leads from "La Cage aux Folles" as portrayed by Nathan Lane and Robin Williams in the movie "The Birdcage." Christopher was most definitely Nathan Lane and Trevor was Robin Williams.

"That's wonderful, Christopher. I'm sure you're happy to have him back."

"I need a favor from you, please," Christopher said next. "Today is Trevor's birthday." Christopher took a deep breath for dramatic effect, but Amy suspected what he was going to ask her and her stomach began to fill with dread.

"Would you please serenade him tonight after supper? Please," Christopher's tone turned to begging as he pushed on. "He's a huge fan of Marilyn Monroe and you know how much he loves your impression of her." Again, another dramatic pause as Amy sat horrified at his request. "Would you mind? This would mean more than anything to him and would be the best birthday present I could ever give him."

Amy finally butted in with an emphatic, "No. Christopher, you know how important tonight is for me. This is my big chance to get the winery in with Bobby Flay. Please don't ask me to do this. It could ruin everything."

"Amy, please," Christopher begged her. "I'll take care of Bobby Flay, don't you worry about a thing. But I've just got to have Marilyn Monroe serenade Trevor tonight. It would mean everything to me."

Amy sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. She could picture Christopher clearly: his eyes pleading, free hand in a fist tucked into his chest.

"Christopher…" Amy began then she sighed.

"Amy." Christopher said seriously. When he used his "straight and serious voice" as he called it, he meant business.

"Amy, things did not go well for Trevor this past month."

Amy sat up straighter in her chair; she was all ears now. "What do mean?"

"Well, the problems with the union contracts made things ugly; I wasn't able to get out there on the weekends like I usually do, and now there's talk that the show might not even make it onto the air. It's really a bad situation out there right now. No one seems to know what's going on with the contract negotiations, the television schedules, anything. Trevor said the atmosphere on the set was the worst he's ever worked in; lots of them had no idea why, but it was very depressing for all of them and hard for them to put their hearts and souls into it." He sighed before he continued. "If you could do this for me tonight, it would really go a long way towards helping improve things for him and for us."

Amy knew Christopher could not stand to see Trevor in a bad mood or depressed state and always worked hard to help improve his best friend's mood. She was jealous of their relationship at times; it was a perfect model of best friendship, unconditional love and lifelong romance. She often envied them and wished she had that for herself.

"Wow. I had no idea." She felt her resolve slipping; she loved entertaining and serenading her friends on their birthdays and anniversaries. Her Marilyn Monroe was merely one of several personas she liked to adopt and perform.

"I see I'm going to have to get down and dirty with my persuasion," Christopher said. His voice became cajoling as he dangled what he hoped would be the irresistible carrot in front of her. "I'll even make it worth your while with a check."

"What kind of check?" Amy thought she knew but wanted to hear his complete offer.

"I will write a personal check for $250,000 for the public trust," Christopher stated.

"This means that much to you?"

"It does. And to Trevor."

Amy exhaled loudly. "Okay, Christopher. I'll do it. BUT" she stated loudly, stopping Christopher from interrupting her. "I want the check first, AND I reserve the right to back out of a public performance if I feel at any time during the meal that this is a bad idea. Understand?"

"I understand. But, if you back out, you will come up to our suite and sing afterwards, won't you?"

Amy chuckled. "You can count on it."

After hanging up with Christopher and sending another mock angry glare in Samantha's direction, Amy called Trey. Quickly explaining the situation and telling him what she needed, Amy got Trey's assurance that he would take care of it and that it would be at her office before she left for the gala. She also swore him to secrecy.

Amy said a quick prayer that she wasn't making a huge mistake in agreeing to help Christopher, and went across the hall to tell Samantha.

Bobby was on his knees in the bathroom, up to his elbows in scrubbing bubbles when his cell phone rang. He rocked back onto his heels, pulled off one yellow rubber glove and looked at the phone.

"Hello, Trey," he answered.

"Hi. Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Well, I have a really hot date with the History Channel and a documentary on the Korean War that I've been interested in seeing. Why, what's up?"

"Well, Samantha can't find anyone to take my place and she asked me to see if you would be available, since you were such a big help last time. If you don't want to, I'll understand, and we'll make do. I just don't feel comfortable leaving Hudson with my grandparents. He's still not over this tummy bug."

"Does your mother know?"

"All Mother knows is that Samantha is taking care of it. Mom's about to start overseeing the wine deliveries to the Garden; she'll be too busy to care much. As long as she has the bodies and the bodies are willing to work and be on their best behavior, she's usually okay with it."

"Maybe I should ask her," Bobby said.

"Please don't bother her. It just makes her more stressed and frustrated, and you know how Mom can be when she's frustrated."

Bobby thought back to his encounter with Amy in the squad room and chuckled. "You owe me dinner for this," he said in mock seriousness.

"Yes, sir," Trey replied smartly. "Your choice; anywhere in town."

"Anywhere? Are you sure you know what you're asking?"

"Anywhere," Trey stated.

"Okay, I'll do it." He grunted as he stood up and stretched. "I need to get cleaned up first. Do I have to wear anything special?"

"You'll need a tuxedo. Gramps will come get you in about half an hour to take you to get one."

Bobby sighed and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He hated wearing a tuxedo, but would do it if he absolutely had to. He could tell he had to this time and didn't argue.

"Do I need to give AJ directions?"

"I don't think so. I remember how to get to your place, and I'll make sure he has your phone number," Trey said.

"I'll be ready."

"Great. And, thank you so much," Trey said emphatically. "I really appreciate this."

He could not believe his luck. A friend had called with a day job; he was working deliveries for a Wainwright Estates function. Maybe he'd even see the b*tch while he was working. He thought about dropping a case of wine, but decided against it. This wasn't really a function for the Trust; they were just providing wine for someone else's fundraiser. He only wanted to ruin her fundraiser, not someone elses.

He'd never been inside Madison Square Garden before. The place was huge. He knew if he just followed the others he wouldn't get lost. He kept his hat down low and his eyes peeled; more than anything he wanted to see her. He wanted to see the object of his anger, the one who was ruining his life.

The crew made 5 trips between the van and the ballroom. He never saw her, but he heard her name called and knew she was there.

_Your time will come_, he thought to himself as the van drove away. _Your time will come._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Bobby was impressed. AJ had taken him to a Manhattan clothier in the fashion district. He had only been in that part of town as a detective, never as a customer.

The business was one that the winery had been using for many years, and the elderly couturier who owned the shop fell all over himself fawning over Bobby and fussing about the size of the task in such a short amount of time. Intuition told Bobby that underneath all the fussing and muttering, the man was secretly pleased to be doing such an important job for the Wainwrights.

Two and a half hours later, Bobby and AJ stepped out in to the bright Manhattan sunshine. Bobby had a discreet black dress bag slung over his shoulder, containing his new, custom-fit tuxedo. The owner had refused to charge the winery for the suit, saying it was an honor to finally be meeting Trey's father, and that the suit was his gift to Bobby. Bobby was flattered and thanked the man kindly, making a mental note to tell Amy about the man's generosity.

As the two men walked up the street towards the parking garage, AJ looked at his watch.

"It's 1:30. Are you hungry? There's a great deli in the next block; greasy, juicy sandwiches and the best iced tea in Manhattan." He looked at Bobby and winked conspiratorially. "I'm not supposed to eat that stuff, so don't tell Patty, okay?"

"Sounds great to me," Bobby said with a chuckle. "I'm starving."

While they were eating, Trey called to ask AJ to stop by the house and pick up the dress bag for Amy. AJ assured him that not only would they pick up Amy's bag, but that yes, Bobby had a tuxedo and would be at the office in time to leave for the dinner that evening.

AJ closed his cell phone and chuckled. "Trey worries more than his momma does. He's a good kid, but needs to relax and trust us to cover for him."

"Tonight is important to them," Bobby asked as they left the deli.

"Very. To hear Amy tell it, it's the most important function they've had all year. It's not even their function, it's for Christopher Mellon's foundation, but the food is being done by Bobby Flay and Amy has been trying to get Wainwright Estates wines into Bobby Flay's restaurants for the past several years. She's hoping tonight will convince Mr. Flay that New York state wines can work with his cuisine."

The two men continued on to the parking garage and to the Wainwright's, their conversation flowing from topic to topic with ease.

Mrs. Mitchell met them in the foyer of AJ's home with Amy's dress bag and a small black travel case. Pleasantries were exchanged and Mrs. Mitchell passed on that Trey had just left to take Hudson to the doctor, as the child's fever was still over 100 and Trey wanted to make sure he had all the right treatments and medications on hand. Hudson was also going to have his arm checked to see how it was healing.

**********

It was 3:00 pm and Amy had just stepped into the bathroom in her office when Samantha came in to go over the check list one last time. Samantha had already changed into her black dress pants and white shirt for the evening. While the servers wore tuxedos, Samantha and Amy wore either dresses or pants, depending on the occasion. Since Samantha would be in charge of the wine service this evening, she was in pants and dress shirt. Amy would be in a silver gown, suitable for the evening, but still easy enough for her to work in if she needed to. Christopher had included her as one of his guests for the evening, but when one owns a business, it's hard not to be the business owner and to just relax and enjoy the evening.

Amy began to change into her gown, leaving the door slightly open so she could talk to Samantha. She heard a man's deep voice in the doorway, and Samantha's murmured response, but paid little attention to it.

Samantha walked into the bathroom, carrying a dress bag and wearing an exasperated expression on her face.

"Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

Amy glanced at Samantha in the mirror and continued pulling up her gown. Samantha ducked out to lay the bag over a chair, and returned to zip up the back of Amy's dress.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Christopher asked me to. It's for Trevor. It's his birthday," Amy added hurriedly. She knew what Samantha was going to say and was in no mood to argue. "I know, it's stupid of me; especially tonight, but…" Amy shrugged, picked up her hair brush and began working on her hair.

"Emile will be here in 20 minutes to do your makeup. The car will be here at 4 for you and the van is also coming at 4 to pick up the stewards. We have 8 men and 8 women, plus me. We also have the staff of the Garden at our disposal."

"Good. We've worked with them before, so no worries there." Amy brushed past Samantha as she moved back into her office, looking for her shoes. She opened several cabinet doors lining one wall of her office and pulled out several pairs of high heels. She turned to face Samantha, holding up a pair in each hand.

"The Jimmy Choo's, definitely," Samantha stated.

"I agree. It's definitely a Jimmy Choo type of evening, don't you think?" Amy returned the spurned pair to the cabinet and closed the doors. Returning to her desk, she dropped in to her chair and strapped on the sexy silvery heels.

"Is there anything else I should be aware of this evening," Samantha asked, eyebrows raised in question.

"No. Once we get to the ballroom, Christopher will tell us what time he wants me to sing. Barton's band is providing the music and I've worked with them before. I just have to give them a head's up and tell them what I'm singing."

"What ARE you singing, by the way? I'm assuming "Happy Birthday, Mr. Trevor", but what's your other choice?" Samantha had crossed her arms over the clipboard and her chest and was clearly conveying to Amy that she was not happy with the turn of events. She had worked hard to have tonight be perfect and didn't want anything to ruin it.

Amy sighed. "Probably "Satisfy". I know; I know….why that song to a gay guy. But why Marilyn Monroe for a gay guy? What can I say? Trevor's a fan, and according to Christopher, whatever Trevor wants, Trevor gets." Amy sang that last part, smiling at Samantha as she did so.

"Okay, as usual, no one, and I mean NO ONE is to know about this," Amy stated emphatically. "It's a total surprise for everyone but you, me, Christopher and Barton. I'll need a room to change in and for you to help me keep an eye on the time. It takes me about 20 minutes to change and re-do my makeup. You'll have to run interference for me if need be, both before and after the performance."

"Got it. I just hope you know what you're doing."

**********

**Charlie Grace's "On the Town" column, Lifestyle section, New York Times, Wednesday morning**

_"While out on the town last night, speculation ran rampant at Christopher Mellon's annual fundraiser dinner when Detective Robert Goren, late of the NYPD's Major Case Squad, appeared as one of the Wainwright Estates' wine stewards._

_"It seems that Detective Goren, dashingly handsome in an Armani tuxedo, is taking a long-overdue, but well-deserved vacation and had volunteered to fill in for the conspicuously absent and ever charming Trey Wainwright._

_"Was this a plot on the part of young Master Wainwright to push his parents together, perhaps?_

_"Nay. As it turns out, Hudson Wainwright has fallen victim to the stomach flu currently making its rounds through the Manhattan toddler set, and Trey had asked his father to step in and help out."_

Captain Ross quit reading out loud, set the paper down on his desk, sighed and rubbed his temples. He was getting one hell of a headache.

"Could it get any worse," he wondered aloud.

"He could be marrying her," Alexandra Eames remarked dryly from where she sat across the desk from her boss.

"Marrying her," Ross scoffed. "Those two? It'll never happen."

"I don't know, Captain. The way he talks about her, that look he gets in his eyes…anything's possible, sir." Alex rose from her chair and moved towards the door. She found this whole situation quite amusing and was trying hard not to laugh in Ross's face.

"Eames," Ross called out as her hand touched the door.

"Yes, Captain?" She looked back at him.

"You'll look after him?"

"I always do, sir," she replied as she pushed open the door and walked out.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

She had barely escaped. Just barely.

After getting over the initial shock of seeing Bobby standing with the rest of the stewards in the office, and reminding herself to stay calm, the evening had progressed smoothly.

Bobby had fit in very well with the 15 other stewards. James, her steward captain for the evening, and Shawn, her best sommelier, were quickly bringing him up to speed on the far side of the room when she saw him there.

_What the hell was he doing here? Who had called him to fill in? There were plenty of other perfectly capable stewards in her employ, so why Bobby? _Her temper flaring, she began to march her way across the room in demand of an explanation, when Samantha's gentle hand on her shoulder had her spinning around.

"What," she hissed angrily, causing those around her to stare in her direction. They had seen Amy upset and anxious before previous events, but never like this.

Samantha stepped close and quickly whispered into Amy's ear just why Bobby was there. Still ticked that Samantha and Trey had asked him to step in and help, and bothered that he had agreed, she nodded in understanding and took a deep breath. She forced herself to move much slower across the room towards Bobby.

Shawn noticed Bobby had quit paying attention to her explanation of the red wine being served with the main course, followed his line of sight, and realized the source of his distraction.

"Oh, wow, Miss Amy! You look stunning," the sommelier gushed. Shawn had been with the winery almost since its inception; her opinions and input were invaluable to Amy.

Amy blushed and looked down at her gown then back at her dear friend Shawn. "Thanks. I didn't want anything too fancy or stuffy in case I get pressed into service tonight."

"I hope you don't have to," Shawn replied. "Do you want to be wired up anyway?"

Several years ago, the team had taken to using discrete ear pieces and small mics clipped to their wrists to facilitate communication between those out on the floor serving and those back in the preparation area. Amy debated with herself for a moment before deciding against it. "No, I think I'll just try to relax and trust you, Samantha and James to run everything smoothly for me."

"Okay," Shawn said with a smile. "By the way, Bobby here has the potential to be a top-notch wine steward. He's already quite familiar with the wines in our label and is a quick study for tonight."

Amy looked at Bobby fondly and smiled softly at him. "Good. You'll need to be quick. Do you understand exactly how we like to serve a table?"

Bobby recited back what Shawn and James had taught him, then said he would be cramming in the van with them on the way over. He seemed pleased to be able to help, and eager to make a good impression, which secretly tickled Amy. What really bothered Amy though, was how stunningly handsome he looked in his tuxedo.

"I see Bernard was able to get you taken care of today," she said, indicating his tuxedo with a small wave of her hand.

Bobby stepped back, held his arms slightly out to the side and made a slow turn for her inspection. Coming back around to face her, he grinned broadly at her. "Well, do I pass muster, Miss Amy?"  
And how, she thought, her insides all aflutter the longer she looked at him. "You'll do," she said.

She moved to the center of the room, clapped her hands and got everyone's attention. Several of the other men whistled at her, causing her to blush and point at them good-naturedly. She launched into her usual pre-event speech, thanking everyone for being willing to work, reminding them of the layout, where they would enter and how they were to join with the other stewards from the Garden to sweep the room. Each steward would work three tables of 10. They would be able to eat before the dinner, but were reminded to refrain from drinking the wine, to everyone's laughter.

As the stewards filed out of the room to go to the van, Bobby strategically positioned himself to be one of the last to leave the room. He stopped in front of her, his face expressionless, and studied her. Amy wondered what he was thinking.

"You look stunning," he told her softly.

She blushed.

"Thank you; so do you," she responded, her voice equally low.

"Nervous?"

"Does it show?"

Bobby smiled at her then, and reached out and gently pulled apart her tightly clinched hands. He wrapped each of his hands around hers and shook her arms gently. He chuckled softly.

"Relax, it'll be fine."

"Are you sure," Amy asked quietly. "There's so much to do, so much to remember." She started to move her arms agitatedly, but Bobby stopped her and gently kept her arms down. He stepped towards her, closing the distance between them slightly.

"Amy," he chided her gently. "It will be fine. You've worked too hard for things to go wrong now. Don't worry." He smiled at her with that lopsided grin she loved so much. She found his low, soft voice soothing and she began to relax visibly. She smiled back at him, in spite of herself.

"That's what I like to see. How will you be getting to the Garden," he asked her next.

"Separate car," she said with a scowl. "I'm one of Christopher's special guests, so I have to do the whole red carpet walk and pose for pictures. I'd much rather be in the van and avoid all that other mess, but…" Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. "The downside of being me."

"Would you like me to go with you," Bobby asked, his head tilted to one side. Her heart always did a little flip-flop when he did that, and it did so again this time.

Amy sighed softly. "That's so sweet of you to offer, but no. Christopher's brother Daniel and his wife Desi and I have already planned to meet up and run the gauntlet together. I'm used to doing the carpet alone or with friends. I'll be fine." She smiled at him softly.

"Are you sure," Bobby inquired, his eyebrows raised.

"I'm sure," she nodded.

Samantha softly cleared her throat to get their attention. "Bobby, we need to go."

Bobby leaned forward slightly and kissed Amy softly on the forehead. He squeezed her hands comfortingly one last time and released them; he turned smartly on his heel and followed Samantha to the van.

The next morning, Amy was sitting at her kitchen table, wrapped in her favorite tattered pink terry robe and reading the same gossip column Ross had been reading. She sipped her coffee and read further:

_And step in he did! Detective Goren did a fabulous job serving wine and charming everyone at the tables he served, including me. If Mr. Goren wants to quit his day job and become a full-time wine steward, he can fill my wine glass anytime! _

Amy snorted and rolled her eyes. Taking another sip of her coffee, her mind flashed back on the image of the very married Charlie Grace flirting outrageously with a very amused Bobby. He had caught her watching and had winked conspiratorially at her.

Later, he had paused by her and spoken softly into her ear as he topped off her wine glass, "Relax, she's harmless."

He had squeezed her shoulder gently as he moved away.

Somehow, Bobby had managed to wrangle his way into serving as the steward for her table, which was the head table, and the two tables on either side. Those three tables were traditionally served by the head steward. She was reassured when she saw James, the evening's head steward, servicing three nearby tables.

She returned to reading the newspaper.

_By far, the highlight of the evening for me was the birthday surprise Christopher had planned for Trevor. The most incredible six-tiered, elaborately decorated chocolate cake was pushed out onto the dance floor by none other than Marilyn Monroe! _

_ To the delight of all present, Miss Monroe serenaded Trevor with her signature version of "Happy Birthday". Then, in a surprise encore performance, Marilyn brought a tall stool out into the middle of the floor, seated Trevor on it, and launched into a delightfully raunchy tune entitled, "Satisfy Me One More Time," an embarrassingly funny number during which Miss Monroe danced, caressed and teased Trevor mercilessly. It was a fun way to celebrate a birthday._

Amy began to hear the song play in her head as she kept reading.

_It did not go unnoticed by me that our wine hostess for the evening, Ms. Amy Wainwright was missing from that part of the evening. Her vacant chair caused me to realize that Ms. Wainwright had been missing from events before whenever Marilyn Monroe would make an appearance. So I wonder, was she back in the kitchen, handling an emergency? Or is there more to Marilyn Monroe and Amy Wainwright than meets the eye?_

Amy stopped reading at that point and sighed; she got up from the table, placed her coffee cup in the sink, and went upstairs. As she showered and dressed for the office, her thoughts drifted back to the prior evening.

She had noticed Bobby watching her from the side of the ballroom. The staff had been told there was to be no table service during Trevor's birthday surprise, so that the 500 people in attendance could enjoy the performance.

Shawn had kept the wine stewards out of the kitchen after she spotted Amy/Marilyn enter from the hallway. She was grateful not to have confronted Bobby before going out onto the dance floor. Simply knowing he was watching her and studying her closely had been so unnerving it had taken every ounce of her mental strength to stay focused on Trevor.

When she launched into "Satisfy Me One More Time," with all its gyrations and hand motions, Trevor's laughter and the crowd's obvious enjoyment had combined to encourage her and she fully let go, getting into both the character and the song. She had vamped it up like she never had before.

When the song concluded and the crowded roared and applauded its appreciation, a very breathless Marilyn Monroe blushed and bowed to the crowd. She took Trevor by the arm, posing for pictures and assisting him in cutting the cake. Thankfully, several of the wait staff for the evening appeared to take over the cake cutting and serving duties. She whispered frantically in Trevor's ear that she needed him to quickly escort her back to the kitchen door.

The wine stewards were approaching the kitchen door at the same time as Amy and Trevor. Amy stood next to Trevor, gripping his arm tightly and trying desperately to remain in character as they passed her on their way back into the kitchen. They were to serve a special bubbly red dessert wine known as Banfi Rosa Regale, and needed to quickly get the bottles and return to the floor to serve.

Several of the staff smiled and complimented her on her performance as they passed into the kitchen. Bobby stopped in front of them and studied her eyes carefully. She drew on every ounce of Marilyn's character left in her as he looked at her.

"I, uh, I," he stammered uncertainly.

"Yes," she gushed breathlessly at him, trying to move her body slightly like Marilyn would have. "Did you want to tell me something?" She widened her eyes and tried to look innocent.

This threw him slightly off guard and she noticed his ears redden slightly. _He's blushing_, she thought delightedly. _ Oh, this is good._

"I, uh, you were very good out there tonight," he finally said softly.

"Thank you. I just love singing for my friends," she looked at Trevor and beamed. "And Trevor is one of my dearest friends. Aren't you, Trevor?" She squeezed his arm and gushed effusively, brushing against him.

Trevor smiled back at her then turned his attention on Bobby, who was still staring at her, unable to move.

"Aren't you supposed to go in there," Amy/Marilyn said, pointing towards the kitchen.

"Oh, uh, yes. Yes I am." Bobby cleared his throat and shook his head slightly and went into the kitchen.

Amy had followed, still on Trevor's arm. She had quickly begged him to escort her all the way to the back of the kitchen. He had said nothing, but raised his eyebrows knowingly at Amy and moved his head subtly in Bobby's direction. Amy had blushed, causing Trevor to laugh delightedly. He squeezed her arm and willingly escorted her all the way through the kitchen to the back door.

She practically ran down the hall to the room Samantha had commandeered for her to change in. Shutting the door, she leaned back against it and tried desperately to catch her breath.

She had barely escaped. Just barely.

****************************

Bobby was also reading the same gossip column. Those who knew him well would be thoroughly surprised to know that he was reading the Lifestyle section of the New York Times, having heard him scoff over gossip columns before. That was before he became reacquainted with Amy Wainwright. That was before last night, when renowned "Society Columnist" (her term) Charlie Grace had told him that she would be writing about him in her column that night. She had squeezed his arm and reassured him that it would all be good.

And it was good. He, too, had rolled his eyes at her comment that "he [could] fill my wine glass anytime." He even chuckled at her descriptions of some of the guests in attendance.

But it was in reading the part about the appearance of 'Marilyn Monroe' and her performance, along with the pictures of the guests, including one of Amy outside on the red carpet and several of 'Marilyn' as she performed for Trevor and assisted him in cutting the cake that returned his thoughts to the evening before. He studied the photographs carefully as he remembered……..

Bobby had looked up from the wine list as soon as he heard her harsh, hissed word to Samantha. He took in her body language as she listened to Samantha, saw her forcefully compose herself, and watched her carefully as she turned back around. He could tell he was the source of her irritation and hoped it would dissipate quickly.

He soon found himself gawking at her, unable to breathe, as she glided across the room in his direction. She was wearing the most incredible silvery-metallic creation he had ever seen on a woman's body. Beads and sequins made a diamond-shaped, sun-burst like design across the middle of the gown. The top point of the diamond started at the bottom of the vee of the neckline; the sides of the diamond pattern pulled her waist in visually and gathered the fabric towards the lower middle back of the dress. The straps were modest, but not overly so. The floor length gown shimmered and moved as she walked towards him. Slinky was the word that immediately popped into his mind.

When a long length of very shapely leg suddenly appeared out of a slit that went up the side of the gown to the bottom of her left hip, two thoughts crossed simultaneously through Bobby's head. The first was that he was going to die, she was so beautiful. The second was that there was no way in hell she was going to the gala dressed in that.

Shawn noticed Bobby had quit paying attention to her explanation of the red wine being served with the main course, followed his line of sight and realized the source of his distraction.

"Oh, wow, Miss Amy! You look stunning," the sommelier gushed.

Amy blushed and looked down at her gown then back at her dear friend Shawn. "Thanks. I didn't want anything too fancy or stuffy in case I get pressed into service tonight."

_If that isn't too fancy or stuffy_, Bobby wondered silently. He swallowed hard. _I'd hate to see her definition of fancy and stuffy._

Amy had complimented him on his tuxedo. He smiled as he remembered giving her a long slow turn to show her. He had enjoyed seeing her giving him the once over from head to toe; it had stirred in him feelings and emotions long forgotten, but very welcome. He was grateful that he had been able to reassure her and calm her down before they all left.

It was quite interesting to see her 'in her element' during dinner. She was gracious and charming to everyone. She held her own on a variety of topics during dinner. There had been a brief look of annoyance and concern when he appeared at their table and introduced himself as their wine steward for the evening. He had seen her glance over to James, and had caught his nod and reassuring smile. He had worked extra hard to do a good job for her and her friends. He knew her concern and worry over the success of the evening, and was pleased that he could help her out and be a part of it.

He had been very impressed by her. Amy had been as impressive as Charlie Grace had been annoying and amusing. He had found it quite humorous and even a little flattering that Mrs. Grace had been flirting with him so outrageously. After noting her husband's amusement and even pleasure with his wife enjoying herself, and noticing how her most special looks, touches, and glances were reserved for him, Bobby had realized that she was harmless and had relaxed and even flirted with her. He had spotted Amy's disapproving looks in his direction when this occurred. The Grace's were seated at the table next to Amy's, so as soon as he could, Bobby had returned to Amy. As he topped off her glass of wine he had spoken softly into her ear, "Relax, she's harmless." He had then squeezed her shoulder gently as he moved away.

He had never been to an event quite as formal as that one. The Policeman's Ball was a fancy dress occasion, to be sure, but he was quite certain there were never as many designer gowns, shoes, and handbags as he had seen last night. He had never seen so much expensive jewelry outside of a jewelry store. Everyone there was either rich, famous, or both. It was both humbling and flattering to be a part of such an occasion.

He had run into Bobby Flay back in the kitchen and had an opportunity to meet the man and visit with him about cooking and wine. He even put in a good word for the Wainwright label and was pleased that Flay was very satisfied with the results of the pairings. Bobby made note of that and was planning to mention it to Amy as soon as he could as he knew it would please her greatly.

When Shawn and James had ushered all the stewards and wait staff out of the kitchen, instructing them to line up unobtrusively around the edges of the room, his curiosity was piqued. James had merely said there was to be a birthday surprise for Mr. Trevor and that they needed to clear the area so it could be prepared.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of a Marilyn Monroe impersonator pushing that rather large, and almost gaudy (in his opinion), chocolate cake out onto the dance floor. As 'she' had sung a spot on version of Marilyn's famously breathless "Happy Birthday" to the honoree, Bobby had realized that the impersonator was not a man, as he had originally thought, but a woman.

As he continued to study the performer, his brain was busy recalling everything he knew about the blonde bombshell. He had been quite enamored of her in his teens, watching every one of her movies with his mom and reading and learning all he could about her. He had even wished on more than one occasion that he had been older, so that maybe, just maybe, he could have met her and fallen in love with her. Maybe even married her like one of his baseball heroes, Joe DiMaggio, had done.

He had recalled Ms. Monroe's height and weight, hair color and eye color and found himself, out of habit, comparing them to the performer in front of him. He had positioned himself at the end of the line as they had filed out of the kitchen, and therefore was fairly close to the dance floor, with an unobstructed view of the whole affair.

Whoever she was, she was slightly taller than Marilyn, and not quite as buxom, although you'd be hard pressed to know it for sure, the way the sparkly white gown she was wearing had been constructed. The hair and makeup were spot on. Bobby thought it had to be a wig, but from his vantage point, he couldn't be for sure. As he continued to study her carefully, something began to bug him in the back of his mind. It was the way the woman was dancing and moving, as though he had seen her dance and move like that before. But he couldn't have; he would have known for sure who it was underneath that getup if he had. Nevertheless, it bugged him and niggled in the back of his mind like a pesky fly that wouldn't quit buzzing and banging itself into the window.

When the singer had launched into that embarrassingly raunchy number, his eyebrows rose. "Satisfy Me One More Time" was one of the lesser known songs that had been recorded in 1974 by Frank Sinatra out in Hollywood, he recalled. It was a very silly song, and she was singing the hell out of it, shimmying, touching herself and Trevor, pointing to some of the audience closest to them, and vamping like crazy. The more he watched, the more that fly of a memory kept buzzing. Louder and louder it buzzed, banging itself over and over against the window of his mind.

As the song ended and the appreciative crowd roared and applauded, he stood, frozen, as he seemed to lock eyes with the woman on the floor. The eyes; those blue eyes. Those _sea blue _eyes. Marilyn Monroe's eyes weren't sea blue, his memory screamed at him. They were more of a blue grey. But Amy; Amy's eyes were sea blue. Bobby hastily cast a glance in her direction; she was gone. _When had she left the room_, he wondered. He had seen her excuse herself from the table and watched her as she stopped and visited with several of the guests at a nearby table, but he hadn't seen her leave the ballroom.

When the performance was over and the cake was cut, Shawn and James began to move them back into the kitchen. They were to grab bottles of the special wine requested to go with the cake and began serving them to their tables. The wait staff was moving out onto the floor to finish cutting the cake, putting slices onto plates and passing them out to other servers to take to the guests.

Bobby had strategically stepped out of the line, allowing the others to go ahead of him while he held open the door to the kitchen. While they all assumed he was simply being gracious and thanked him for holding the door open for them, he had an ulterior motive: to get up close and personal with that Marilyn Monroe.

She came towards him on the arm of Trevor Wilson, paramour of Christopher Mellon and famous movie star. She took his breath away and stupefied him. He had stammered out a compliment and smiled shyly at her. He had felt his ears grow hot as she gushed and smiled at him and at Trevor. If he hadn't known Marilyn Monroe had been dead for years, he would have sworn she really was standing in front of him; he was smitten. She was so good as Marilyn that he was more confused than ever as to her true identity. He had forcefully swatted away that niggling, buzzing memory of blue eyes and déjà vu and had forced himself to move into the kitchen and return to his duties as a wine steward.

His thoughts returned to the present when he absentmindedly took a sip of coffee, only to find he was holding a now empty mug. Sighing, he put down the paper, rose from the table and refilled his coffee mug. Checking the time on the oven door, he remembered he had promised Trey that he would check on him and Hudson later that morning, plus he really needed to go to the store as well as finish cleaning the shower. He decided he'd better do that first, so he could take a shower. Sighing again, he moved off down the hall towards the bathroom, his thoughts still churning over the events of the night before.

**********

The young man carefully spread the Lifestyle section of The New York Times newspaper out on his kitchen table. Next, he removed all the pages except for the ones with Charlie Grace's column and the pictures from the Mellon gala. Then, he took a pair of scissors and carefully cut the pages apart.

He liked to laminate newspaper articles, as they lasted longer that way. While he waited for his laminator to heat up, he carefully cut apart the column and the pictures and meticulously arranged them between the sheets of laminate. He would pause to study his layouts. They had to be just right before he would put them into the machine.

Afterwards, when they were cool and hard, he carefully punched holes down the left hand side of each sheet. Then he carefully inserted the sheets into a large, blue, 3-ring binder. Next, he closed the rings and then flipped back to the beginning of the binder.

He spent the rest of his morning looking at its contents and contemplating what his next move would be.

******************************

Words to "Satisfy Me One More Time", written by F. Huddleston

Don't deny me, satisfy me one more time,  
Barricade me and invade me, just one more time.  
Sacrifice me, don't be nice, be wild and free.  
Make a sex-pot symbol out of little old me,  
Caress me, molest me, one more time,  
Excuse me and abuse me one more time.  
Excite me and ignite me with your sweet torso.  
Use your muscles, my corpuscles, wanna go.  
Assault me, attack me, lose control.  
Let's smother each other in a good old strangle-hold.  
There's nothing but loving on my mind.  
Don't deny me, satisfy me one more time.  
Compromise me, vandalize me, have a ball,  
Destroy me and restore me through it all.  
Demolish, disassemble and dismantle all my doubts,  
It's confusing, I don't know my whereabouts.  
Bite my ears, baby, nibble on my nose  
Let your dimples put those pimples on my toes.  
There's sugar oozing over from my elbows to my knees,  
So cover me with kisses, get yourself some calories,  
If you don't want me climbing up the wall,  
Don't fool around my fertile ground at all.  
While the cold is getting colder, just be sure,  
Everything's up in my body's temperature, jack it up.  
They're still a lot of groovy good things on the shelf,  
When you reach the cookie jar, just help yourself,  
Saying nothing, but the loving on my mind.  
Don't deny me, satisfy me one more time.  
Encore, encore, encore.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

After Bobby had finished cleaning the bathroom, taken a shower, shaved and dressed, he walked down to the corner store to pick up a few groceries. He chatted amiably with some of his neighbors on his way to and from the store. He flirted outrageously with Mrs. Miller, the owner's wife, as per their usual ritual. He was delighted to see her back behind the cash register again; she had been ill recently and trips to the grocery store just didn't feel the same without a smile and some shameless flirting with Mrs. Miller.

Returning home, Bobby heard the soft "beep, beep, beep" of his answering machine, indicating he had missed a call while he was out. He punched the button and listened as Eames' voice fussed at him for having his cell phone turned off, forcing her to have to talk to the machine instead of directly to him. She needed him to return her call soon as she had a few work-related questions he needed to answer.

Bobby picked his cell phone up and saw that he had missed a call from her. He had also missed a call from Trey. He decided to tackle Eames' questions first, knowing that if she had called him, the questions needed to be answered quickly. Thankfully, Eames' questions were fairly simple for him to answer; he directed her to the location of several files she couldn't locate and confirmed a few details from a recent investigation. Then she dropped a bomb on him: James Murphy had rejected the plea that had been offered him and now wanted a trial.

Bobby was stunned. He knew how much this would devastate Trey and Amy, not to mention what it would do to the Edwards. All had been extremely relieved that a plea had been reached. All had put Laura's horrendous murder behind them and were working hard to move forward. A trial would bring everything back out into the open; it would be a front-page sensation and a living nightmare.

Eames told Bobby that ADA Carver was arguing the case, with Connie Rubirosa as his second chair. Carver wanted to have a sit-down meeting in his office Wednesday morning; Bobby would have to be there.

Alex reassured Bobby that in no way would he be assigned any new cases. His sole purpose for coming into the squad room now would be strictly to prep for the Grand Jury hearings.

Bobby sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. He wrote down the meeting information in his binder. Alex thanked him for his help again, and he hung up.

The next call he needed to make would be to Trey. Alex had told him that Carver now felt that he, Bobby, was the best person to break the news to the Wainwrights and the Edwards. He understood why, but was not looking forward to the task.

Bobby dialed Trey's number. As he waited for Trey to answer, he grabbed a diet soda out of the refrigerator. He heard the phone ring three times before it was picked up. Bobby was expecting to hear Trey's deep, mellow "Hello?", not the sound of heavy breathing.

It was loud breathing, too, and startled Bobby for a second. Then he smiled as recognition hit him.

"Hi, Hudson," Bobby said gently.

A little voice said "Hi" back, and breathed heavily into Bobby's ear again as he fought to stifle his laughter.

"Hudson, this is your 'Boppy'," he told the child next, using the name Hudson always called him

"Boppy," Hudson hollered loudly into the phone.

Bobby winced and grinned.

"Boppy play trucks," Hudson asked next.

"Not right now," Bobby answered with a chuckle. "Where's your daddy? Can you give Daddy the phone, please?"

"O-tay," Hudson replied.

Bobby could tell by the noises in his ear that Hudson was carrying the phone with him as he went in search of Daddy. Bobby could hear Hudson calling out, "Daaaa—deee" and occasionally the phone would bump into something with a thud. Soon, Bobby could hear Trey's voice as he answered Hudson, "In here, Hudson."

"Daddy," Hudson screamed. "Boppy phone! Here, Daddy!" A pause and the sound of Trey's voice could be heard indistinguishably in the background.

Trey came on the line, and Bobby could tell by the tone of his voice that the young man was embarrassed to be talking to someone on the phone at that moment.

"Uh, can I call you back," Trey asked. "This isn't a good time for me. I need about five minutes."

Bobby chuckled softly. "Sure. I'll be here."

Bobby closed his cell phone and smiled; he had pretty much figured out just where Hudson had found his daddy, and laughed out loud. He went into the living room and settled onto the couch to finish reading the paper.

About twenty minutes later, a very apologetic Trey was returning Bobby's call.

"I'm so sorry about that," he began. "I was stuck in the, uh,…"

"Bathroom? I figured that based on your tone of voice earlier," Bobby said with a chuckle. "I guess, in a way, it's my fault. I asked Hudson to take the phone to Daddy. I just never imagined you'd be, uh…indisposed?"

By now, Trey was chuckling, and both men had a small laugh over the embarrassing situation.

"It's okay. I guess I need to remind Hudson NOT to answer the phone unless I'm next to him," Trey said with a sigh. "Change of subject; how did everything go last night?"

"It went very well. Everyone had a great time. I met Bobby Flay back in the kitchen and he was very impressed with the wines and how well they worked with his food. I think your mom scored some big points with him last night."

"She'll be pleased to hear that. How did you do on your first big wine serving job?"

"I think I did pretty well. No one threw their wine at me, if that's what you mean."

"That's good. Mom tells me you wrangled your way into serving her table. That's usually a job for the head steward," Trey commented.

"Well, I just smiled and sweet-talked Shawn and she gave in."

"Turned on the old 'Goren charm', did you," Trey chuckled.

"Yep," Bobby agreed smugly. "Gets 'em every time!"

"How did Mom do last night?"

"She did fine. I think she was a little bit ticked at first that I was serving her table, but she got over it. She seemed pretty nervous most of the night, like she wanted to jump up and run into the kitchen or into the bathroom to throw up. Is she always like that?"

"Most events, yes. Even more so when her reputation is on the line, like last night with Bobby Flay serving the meal. Or when she's performing." Trey threw that last line out casually.

"Performing? What do you mean, 'when she's performing,' Bobby asked, confused.

"Ummm," Trey said, then got strangely quiet.

"Trey," Bobby said menacingly. "Is there something you want to tell me? I'm a trained interrogator, I can make you talk whether you want to or not," Bobby said with a smile.

"I know, and that will be my excuse. 'He forced me to talk!'" Trey replied.

"So, what did you mean by performing?"

"Did Marilyn Monroe show up last night," Trey asked hesitantly.

"Yes, she did. She sang Happy Birthday to Trevor, then launched into this really raunchy number…"

Bobby heard Trey groan.

"What?"

"'Satisfy Me One More Time'? Was that the 'raunchy little number'?"

"Yes," Bobby answered, now really confused. The wheels in Bobby's brain began to turn as he fell into detective mode. He unconsciously took all the bits and pieces of information he had and lined them up side by side in his head. Suddenly he made one of his infamous leaps from A to C.

"Trey, was that your mother dressed as Marilyn Monroe last night?"

The silence was telling.

"Oh, my God," Bobby gasped softly. "She was wonderful! Why didn't she tell me?"

"She doesn't like to make a big deal out of it. It started out as a joke, but now it's kind of snowballed… she thinks keeping it quiet will keep it from getting any further out of hand," Trey answered.

"She's really good," Bobby stated emphatically. "At first I thought it was a man, then I realized it was a woman…She even walked right by me afterwards. She was so good as Marilyn that I got tongue-tied standing next to her."

Trey chuckled softly. "Mom has a tendency to leave men tongue-tied and panting in her wake when she's in her Marilyn get-up. I know which outfit she was in last night; I packed it for her. If you thought that was good, wait til you see her in her little white dress. She has these killer legs. I keep trying to get her to pose on a street grate for me like in "The Seven Year Itch", but she won't. Says she's too embarrassed."

Bobby couldn't believe what he was hearing. Trey knew? "Why didn't you tell me," Bobby asked him.

"I couldn't. She swore me to secrecy. The whole performance was a surprise present for Trevor, and Mom was afraid someone would let it slip and blow all of Christopher's careful planning. Be careful when you ask her about it."

"I will," Bobby assured him. "Are you available for lunch today? I need to meet with you and your mom; something's come up and we need to talk about it together."

"Yes," Trey said slowly. "Christy just left with Hudson for the park and the zoo; she'll have him all day. I was planning on going in to the winery office soon, but I can be at Mom's for lunch."

"Good. I'll see you then," Bobby said.

Bobby closed his cell phone and sighed in wonder. That was Amy in that Marilyn Monroe get-up last night. No wonder his memory was running crazy last night; he HAD seen 'her' before. He shook his head and cleared his thoughts. He needed to call her now, and the reason wasn't pleasant. He pressed her speed dial number on his cell and waited for her to answer.

**********

Amy had gotten in to work around 8:30 that morning; she was tired, but pleased at how the evening went. She briefly wrote up her review of the wine dinner and the stewards and saved it on her computer for later use. She quickly checked her emails then grabbed her calendar to start double-checking dates and seeing what events were coming up soon.

She quickly scanned through August; she had most of it memorized by now, but still liked to double-check. Her eyes landed on a note carefully printed at the bottom of one of the date squares; two words that made her heart jump and her pulse race: Bobby's birthday. She looked at the date: August 30. Two weeks away!

Normally, she just quietly wished him a happy birthday and went on, but now….now that he was actually here, back in her life again….well, she just couldn't let his birthday go by with only a thought for a good day. She had to do something for him; get something. But what? Bobby wouldn't go for big and fancy; that wasn't his style. She settled back in her chair, toying with her pen, thinking about ideas.

She could get him a gift card to a bookstore; he loved reading. But that seemed almost impersonal; as though she couldn't think of anything better and defaulted. No; not a gift card. She thought some more. She remembered seeing issues of Smithsonian magazine in his apartment. She could renew his subscription. That might work; it was something he really liked and would show that she was paying attention. Amy leaned forward and made a note to call a friend in the publishing business.

She had just finished the notation when her phone rang; it was her private line, which would mean Samantha hadn't heard it ring. Curiously she picked up the phone and answered it.

"Good morning, Amy." Bobby's voice coated her ear with its velvety soft smoothness, and she shivered in spite of herself.

"Good morning, Bobby." Amy tried to respond cheerfully, but, good grief! What his voice had just done to her. Her spine felt like Jell-o!

"How are you this morning? I thought you'd be sleeping in after last night."

Amy chuckled softly. "That'd be so nice, but there's always a lot of work to do after an evening like that. Reports, critiques, financial reconciliation…" Her voice trailed off and she sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it, but then I think of the winery, and the wine, and how much I want to share with the world what we make and do in Utica, and realize that it's all worth it."

Bobby smiled on his end of the line.

"You did quite well yourself," Amy told him next. "I was very impressed. You had everyone around me praising you and fussing at me for hiding you from them for so long."

"Thank you. And how did you respond to all the fussing?"

"I told them I had made a mistake keeping you hidden and they would be seeing a lot more of you from now on."

Bobby's heart skipped a beat. "Well, thank you…I think. By the way, you were stunning last night. I really enjoyed your performance."

Amy got very quiet on her end of the line. If Bobby hadn't known her better, he'd have sworn she was no longer on the line. Instead, he waited patiently for her response.

"How..how did you know," she finally asked, her voice low and tenuous.

"I suspected last night that I might know who 'Marilyn' was, but Trey confirmed it this morning when he asked me how you had done last night. He had no idea you still hadn't told me."

"Bobby," Amy began apologetically.

"No need to apologize. Trey explained to me that you get embarrassed being called out and complimented about it, and that you really don't want everyone in town to know, and that's okay. You're secret is safe with me," Bobby said conspiratorially.

"You're not mad at me," Amy ventured to ask.

"Mad? No! Surprised? Very! You were really good! I could have used a warning, though," Bobby chided her softly. "You really had me smitten and befuddled. Fooled me, too, when you spoke to me outside the kitchen door."

"Oh," was all Amy could say. She was blushing furiously now, and she was convinced Bobby could feel the heat of her cheeks through the phone.

"Are you available for lunch today," Bobby asked next.

"Hmmmm? What?"

Bobby chuckled and grinned. "I asked you if you were available for lunch today," he repeated patiently.

"Oh, let me check my calendar." He could hear pages flipping.

"Yes. What did you have in mind," she was now half-hoping for a quiet lunch for two.

"Your place around noon. Something's come up and I need to tell you and Trey about it in person. I've already spoken with him this morning and he's available.

"Okay," Amy said as she made a note in her planner. "I'll have Samantha order us up some sandwiches from the deli and we can eat together in the conference room."

Suddenly, another thought struck her. "Did Trey tell you I was Marilyn Monroe?"

"Not in so many words. He asked me how you had done last night; I think he thought you had already told me about your little hobby. He felt really bad to discover you hadn't told me yet. He even apologized."

Amy sighed. "It's okay. You were going to find out sooner or later." She leaned forward over her desk and began to doodle in her planner as she spoke. "So, was I really as good as you said? I'm always so embarrassed and people tell me I do a good job, but…." Her voice trailed off and Bobby could sense her insecurity.

"Amy, you were fabulous," he reassured her softly. "I was totally blown away. The movements, the mannerisms, the speech patterns, even your dress was dead on for Marilyn Monroe. It's a very convincing performance."

"Well, thank you," Amy replied softly and gratefully. She remembered how much of a Marilyn fan he was growing up, so that was high praise, indeed.

"What does one have to do to get a private audience with Ms. Monroe," Bobby purred softly into her ear.

Amy shivered as his voice ran down her spine and curled her toes. She squirmed slightly in her chair and decided to go for it.

"All you have to do is ask nicely," she purred in her best Marilyn voice.

Bobby's eyebrows shot up at the sound of Marilyn's voice suddenly in his hear. It was unexpected and his body jumped into overdrive in its response; his senses became heightened, his heart rate accelerated, and he even felt his body grow hot and taut.

"I have a birthday coming up soon. Do you think you'd be available to come sing "Happy Birthday" to me, Marilyn," he asked, emphasizing the name 'Marilyn' at the end.

"Ooo," she squealed. "Mr. Goren! What kind of girl do you think I am? I don't even know you and you want me to come up and sing to you. Honestly." Amy was surprised at how easy it was to flirt with him over the phone as Marilyn.

"I think you're a wonderful girl," Bobby answered, paraphrasing several lines from old Monroe movies.

"Well, I think you're wonderful, too," Amy answered back. "Let me check my calendar and I'll see what I can do, you sweet man." She tried hard to keep from laughing, but a small giggle escaped.

Bobby heard the small giggle and responded with a chuckle of his own. "You better keep my birthday free," he growled. "I'm holding you to sing. And I want you to pull out all the stops, too."

Amy was suddenly quiet as she realized what had just happened. She was now extremely nervous and shy at the prospect of a private performance for Bobby. She played with her pen and sat there, unable to speak.

"Amy? Are you still there," Bobby asked uncertainly.

"I'm still here," Amy responded quietly. "I…I just…..well…." she let her voice trail off.

Now it was Bobby's turn to fall silent. After a few moments he spoke again. "I have a few things I need to do before I meet you and Trey at your office at noon. I'm not picky about sandwiches, so whatever you and Samantha decide to bring in will be fine with me."

"Okay," Amy answered, relieved that he had changed the subject to one more neutral. "I'll see you at noon, then."

Bobby closed his cell phone and leaned back into the sofa and smiled. The meeting would be a difficult one, but for the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to his birthday, and that prospect made all the other problems seem very small indeed.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Trey was the first to arrive in his mother's office. He had an unfair advantage, though, in that he worked on the same floor in the same building, but he could have waited and just arrived on time.

She was nowhere to be seen when he first entered, but by the time he got to her desk, he could hear her moving around in her private bathroom. He decided to sit down in her chair and prop his feet up on her desk, a gesture that would always send her into mock indignation and him into loud laughter.

He had to move some papers out of the way before he could prop his feet up, though, and that's when he saw it. It was crudely typed on plain white stationery, as though the author's typewriter was old, or the printer was running out of ink. He hadn't meant to read it, as reading her correspondence without permission always felt to him like a violation of her privacy and trust, but the word "BITCH" caught his eye. It had been typed in all capital letters, and Trey could see from the marks on the paper that whoever had written the note had typed the word over and over so as to make it as bold as possible.

He read the whole letter and his hand was shaking, his blood was boiling and his stomach was in knots by the time he was finished. The letter was menacing in tone and threatening in action. It referenced previous letters and mentioned Amy's neglect at changing her behavior in order to cause him to stop the threats.

Previous letters, Trey thought with confusion and concern. Mother never said anything to me about threatening letters before.

The sound of the toilet flushing followed by running water at the sink caused him to drop the letter back down onto the desk. He hurriedly shoved everything off to the side, settled himself in her chair, propped up his feet and tried to look as calm and innocent as possible.

Inside, however, he was seething; seething at her for not telling him and seething at the anonymous author for threatening her. He needed to ask her about the letter; how many others were there and how long had she been receiving them, but when she suddenly came out the bathroom and saw him at her desk, he just couldn't.

The expression on her face was of worry and concern. She tried to quickly mask it with the usual mock outrage at him for daring to put his feet on her desk yet again, but Trey had seen the worry before she started in on him. He reacted as he usually did, patronizing her and taking his time removing his feet and rising from her chair, pulling her into a big warm hug and begging her forgiveness while making false promises to behave himself next time.

They were laughing when Bobby arrived in the doorway. He rapped several times on the door and called out in greeting as he entered. Soon he had joined Trey and Amy at her desk for handshakes and hugs and welcoming platitudes. Both Amy and Trey could see the worry and concern in his eyes and knew immediately that their lunch meeting would not be a pleasant one.

Over sandwiches and chips, Trey and Bobby related to Amy the story of Bobby's phone call that morning. She grinned and laughed with them as they told her of Hudson answering the phone and taking it to Trey in the bathroom. Amy followed up with several tales of her own involving Trey answering the phone as a toddler, and soon the early tension had lessened.

As soon as they had cleared the table of the remains of their meal and returned to their chairs, the atmosphere grew uncomfortable. Bobby shifted in his chair as Amy and Trey waited for him to share with them why he had asked for this meeting.

He pulled his binder over in front of him, opened it and began fidgeting with his pen, twirling it between his long fingers and clicking it absentmindedly as he stared at the yellow legal pad in front of him on the table. He had made some notes on the case the night before as well as a summary of what little bit ADA Carver had shared with him and Eames just that morning, and tried to figure out how to start.

It was Amy who finally broke the awkward silence.

"I've never known you to be at a loss for words, Bobby," she stated flatly. "Out with it. What's going on?"

Smiling inwardly at the strong, vocal Amy he remembered from their youth, he answered her softly yet seriously. "James Murphy has decided not to accept the original plea bargain and wants a trial instead."

"What," shouted Trey as he rose angrily to his feet. "What do mean, he wants a trial?! You said he couldn't do that! You said once he took the deal, he'd never get out again! You said…" he stopped talking, he was so angry. His whole body shook with the anger he felt and he ran a very shaky hand through his hair as he moved agitatedly around the table.

"Sit down, Trey," Bobby said firmly. "We don't know that it will even get that far just yet. We only got word yesterday that he had changed his mind. These things happen all the time and never make it to the courtroom." Bobby didn't know that for a fact, but hoped it was true. He did know that many cases never saw the light of a courtroom due to smart lawyer-ing and legal maneuvering on both sides of the aisle, and hoped that would be the end result here. He had no desire to hurt his family even further. The reality of that thought would hit him later; right now he was most concerned about Trey.

Trey stopped in his tracks, staring at Bobby then at Amy. They stared back, gently but firmly. Finally he sighed loudly and sank into the nearest chair. He turned it to face Bobby.

"How could…," Amy began. "How did this happen? I thought the agreement was Man2, 20 to life?"

Bobby nodded. "It was, until Mr. Murphy began hanging out in the library up in Attica and talking to the other prisoners. Now he's gotten the idea that he accepted an unfair deal and wants a judicial hearing to have either his sentence reduced or the charges dropped completely. If the judge rules in his favor, then the DA's office will be recharging him on Second Degree Murder with the intent to pursue a life sentence."

Now it was Amy's turn to pace the room agitatedly. Bobby could only watch helplessly as her mind turned over the information he had just given her. It was a devastating blow, to say the least, to think that her daughter-in-law's killer might possibly now go free.

"Will he be let out while all this is going on," she asked as she turned and headed back towards him.

"No. The agreement is that Mr. Murphy is," he paused here to look at his notes. "'Free to pursue whatever avenue of legal justice he likes as long as he remains incarcerated until the proceedings are finished and new findings determined.' At least, that's how the ADA worded it to us this morning." He looked back at them sympathetically.

"Us," Trey asked. "Who else knows about this?" Trey was very concerned now.

"My partner, Ea- Alexandra Eames, and Captain Ross, our supervisor. The Chief of Detectives knows as well," Bobby answered.

"Can we keep this out of the press," Amy wondered aloud as she stopped behind Trey. She rested her hands on his shoulders. "The media will go nuts."

"I know," Bobby agreed. "We discussed this briefly this morning. ADA Carver will be getting with the public relations department in the DA's office to put together press releases and determine a course of action for responding to press inquiries. The District Attorney, Jack McCoy, is aware as well, and is also very concerned. He may be doing a press conference later today or first thing tomorrow morning."

"I want my people in on those talks," Amy insisted firmly. "Bobby, could you write some things down for me, please?"

Bobby agreed by turning to a clean sheet of paper and poising his pen over it. He took notes as Amy talked, jotting down her to-do list and adding in some of his own.

"I want our lawyer in on this. Trey, can you set up an appointment with Andrew immediately?" Trey nodded as she continued.

"Of course, the Edwards must be told. Oh, this is going to devastate them," Amy said worriedly as she began to move around the room again. Bobby watched in amazement as she oscillated from tossing out names to be contacted and why to venting emotionally over the whole situation. She was barely holding onto control and Bobby knew it wouldn't take much for her to break. Finally, she paused in her speaking and verbal list-making and Bobby saw his chance. Laying down his pen, he rose from his chair and moved to stand in front of her.

"Come here," he said gently, placing his hands softly on her upper arms and pulling her in close. As she relaxed against him, he wrapped his long arms around her. She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Oh, Bobby," she wailed softly. "Why this? Why now?"

"I don't know," he replied softly as he gently rubbed his hands up and down her back. He was seeking to relax her further as her stress was palpable in the tension and tightness he could feel in her shoulder and back muscles. She leaned against him for another few moments, then pushed herself back and looked at him.

"Thank you," she said softly. Her face was grateful, but there was still upset and worry in her eyes. She moved away from him and turned to face Trey.

"Mom, I think Bobby should go with us to tell the Edwards," Trey said softly. "I don't know that I can face them without him with us." He was barely in control of his own emotions and afraid he was about to break down in front of his mom. He was grateful she was giving him things to do; it would help him stay focused and calm. He could cry later, when he was alone at home.

"Why don't we invite them over for dinner this evening? We need to tell Mom and Dad as well, and this way we can circle the wagons and come up with a plan of action. Tell them 6:30, and I'll ask Mom and Mrs. Mitchell to take care of dinner plans."

Trey nodded and left the room.

"Oh, and Andrew, too," Amy called after him.

When she turned around to face Bobby again, he could see the pain and confusion plainly on her face. Without saying a word, he pulled her into him again, and she rested her forehead against his chest and began to cry softly.

****************************** **********

Dinner that night was strained. Christy had brought Hudson to eat with and lighten the mood, but after they left, the evening grew serious once more.

As Trey feared, the Edwards did not take the news well. He was grateful for Bobby's presence; the detective was able to answer numerous questions for them.

Having Andrew Hamilton, the Wainwright family lawyer, present was a boon as well. Everyone feared the defense would use Bobby's relationship to Trey as a means to get the charges dropped by alleging that the evidence collected under Bobby's supervision was tainted. Andrew suggested that everyone be deposed as well as provide sworn affidavits as to their role in the investigation. It would need to be very clear as to who knew what when as far as Bobby was concerned. Hamilton was very familiar with the tactics of Katherine Lipinski, James Murphy's highly respected defense attorney. She was a no-nonsense lawyer who never left a stone unturned; she was sure to use Trey's paternity and Bobby's involvement to her client's best advantage.

Plans were made for everyone to give their depositions as well as their sworn written affidavits during the coming weeks. Murphy's hearing was scheduled for two weeks from tomorrow, so they needed to work hard and work fast. Andrew would be meeting with ADA Ron Carver in two days to update him on the evening's meeting and their plans.

The next several weeks passed in a blur for the two families. Reliving the investigation was almost unbearable for them; having to write down everything they remembered and getting it into as accurate a timeline as they possibly could was a daunting, emotionally draining task. Goren, Eames and Ross were under scrutiny from the Chief of D's and IAB, who feared that losing this hearing would ruin the reputation of not only the two best detectives the NYPD had had in a long time, but that of the MCS and the entire police force.

Amy was the most worried. Her testimony could be the most damning of all. She knew the moment Alexandra Eames had appeared on her doorstep that Robert Goren was in the picture, yet she had said nothing. Her deposition had been practiced numerous times with Andrew so as to portray her in the best light possible. Her affidavit had been written and re-written numerous times as well. Carver and Hamilton were determined that there would be no way the judge would allow Murphy's current plea agreement to be overturned.

When the day of the hearing finally arrived, the courtroom was filled with nervous anxiety. The prosecution was determined to portray the investigation as having been conducted in a completely by-the-book, above board manner, while the defense was hoping to use the fact of Detective Goren's being the father of Trey Wainwright as enough to throw out the detective's findings and dismiss all charges.

The aisle sliced the courtroom precisely in half. While James Murphy's only family was his parents, there was a large contingent present on that side who believed that the police handled the matter unfairly and wanted to see the NYPD punished for their blatant disregard of the law and the obvious conflict of interest that clearly led to the unfair incarceration of James Murphy.

Aligned against the defense were not only the well-prepared Edwards, Wainwrights, their lawyers and the detectives, but also crime scene technicians and forensics specialists. They had also provided sworn affidavits that the evidence collected at the scene and analyzed in their labs was definitively damning of the defendant, and was also obvious enough and conclusive enough that a rookie cop would be able to have an open and shut case.

The battle lines were drawn. All that was needed was the right judge. Unfortunately for both sides, this was Judge Kimberly Taylor's courtroom. Kimberly was hard-nosed and no-nonsense, but very impartial. Her rulings were rarely overturned on appeal, but she was very hard to read in the courtroom. Each side knew they had a fair chance with her, but only if they provided a strong enough argument with substantial enough support. Preparation was the key to impressing Judge Taylor.

Amy needn't have worried; Carver was more than prepared. His game plan was smart and well thought out: have the crime scene technicians, forensics experts and the medical examiner all testify before the police and family. When Detective Goren was finally called to the stand on the third day of the hearing and the subject of Trey's paternity came into play, Carver pulled out the big guns.

Very carefully, Goren and Carver reminded the judge that this case was initially a "Jane Doe" homicide. It was only after all the crime scene evidence had been collected by CSU and Homicide and after the medical examiner's thorough investigation that the body had been positively identified as Laura Wainwright. The only evidence Goren and Eames had handled were the financial records of the families. They uncovered James Murphy's involvement, and had treated Trey Wainwright with kid gloves. Like Eames before him, Bobby testified before the judge that he had not been in the interrogation room when Trey was questioned; he had merely watched from the observation room. By the time Carver was done with Bobby, it was more than obvious to everyone in the courtroom that James Murphy was guilty. The evidence against him was so strong, a monkey could have collected it and he would still be convicted.

After Bobby left the stand, Judge Taylor checked her watch and called for the noon recess. She surprised no one in the courtroom when she announced that she had seen and heard enough and would be handing down her decision after lunch. When Lipinski objected, Judge Taylor asked her if she had anything new to present before the court; Katherine had to reluctantly admit that she did not. The judge addressed the courtroom again and announced that no further testimony was necessary.

Several hours later, the judge ruled in the state's favor stating emphatically that there was no conclusive proof the evidence was tainted in any way. Furthermore, it was clear to her that there had been no wrong-doing or mishandling of justice on the part of the police. She thanked everyone for coming and for being so well prepared. "We are adjourned," she stated with a rap of her gavel.

Several hours after that, Carver met with Lipinski and Murphy in a small conference room on the fourth floor of the courthouse. Lipinski had finally managed to convince James that it was in everyone's best interest that he accept the plea that had been previously offered, go back to Attica and serve his time there quietly and as a model prisoner. Murphy was more than willing to sign papers to that effect after Carver explained to him that a trial would result in a conviction on the charge of Murder Two, effectively guaranteeing him life in prison without any possibility of parole. Under the current plea agreement, he would be eligible for parole in 25 years.

No one on the prosecution side was up for much celebration that evening. They were physically and emotionally drained. Happy over the judge's decision, yes, but that was about it. Reliving the horror had made it a hollow victory.

***************************************************************************************I just googled the death penalty in NY and found this site: **

.org/node/1416

**It looks like there is no death penalty in NY at this time. And I don't think Manslaughter would qualify anyway. And according to this site, the sentence for Manslaughter One with a "violent predicate" (I know there had been a restraining order..had he been convicted of a violent crime before?) would 10-25 years. I hope these links work.**

Maybe second degree murder?: Second degree

Second-degree murder is ordinarily defined as 1) an intentional killing that is not premeditated or planned, nor committed in a reasonable "heat of passion" or 2) a killing caused by dangerous conduct and the offender's obvious lack of concern for human life. Second-degree murder may best be viewed as the middle ground between first-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter.  
For example, Dan comes home to find his wife in bed with Victor. At a stoplight the next day, Dan sees Victor riding in the passenger seat of a nearby car. Dan pulls out a gun and fires three shots into the car, missing Victor but killing the driver of the car.

**  
**

**I can't find any definite sentencing for an A1 felony...but it looks like it would be life. I would have to go back to your first story to read again how and why he killed her, but as I remember the details, it would qualify as Murder 2.**

This was a hearing, right? So I don't think the judge would have handed down a verdict and sentence...or an opinion of what a verdict and sentence should be (I just realized that's what it was). But I think she would have ruled the defense didn't prove any wrong-doing and so all the evidence was included, and she would have ruled there was enough evidence to go forward with a trial. Were you planning to actually have a trial? Because if you don't want to spend time on that, it would be believable that Carver might offer a plea bargain one more time to save the families from a trial, and the defense attorney could convince Murphy to take it and stick to it this time. Did that make sense?


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Not everything the past three weeks had been hard work; there had been a few bright spots, usually when someone decided levity was needed before going insane.

There had been a crazy movie night, for which Trey rented "Stripes" and "Animal House." He had invited Bobby, Ron Carver and the Edwards. Amy, Patty and AJ had joined them as well for pizza, beer and a chance to put the horribleness of the hearing preparations firmly out of mind, if only for a brief moment.

Several days later, Bobby had gotten completely fed up with cataloguing all the evidence; he and Eames were going back through everything from the evidence gathered by the Crime Scene techs in the park to the financial reports and witness statements, double-checking the date collected and the collector. It was their job to show unequivocally exactly when they had become involved in investigating the crime and had handled the various pieces of evidence. Stopping himself just short of shoving all their hard work off onto the floor of the conference room, he had instead walked out and slammed the door.

Eames found him by the elevator, just as he was closing his cell phone.

"Bobby, are you all right," she asked him, a look of concern wrinkling her brow.

He sighed and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "Yeah, I just need a break. I had to get out of there before I went crazy."

"I know what you mean," Eames said in agreement. "We made good progress today. Wanna cut out and go get a beer?"

He looked at her and considered her answer. "No, thanks," he said slowly. "I think I'm going to call Amy back and see if she'd like to go grab some dinner with me tonight. I just talked to her, and today was really hard on her, too. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I'll see if anyone else wants to join me. Have fun," Eames smiled up at Bobby.

All the way down in the elevator and through the parking garage to his car, Bobby thought about what he could do for Amy. She had sounded particularly stressed out on the phone and he really wanted to cheer her up. As he pulled out of the garage, he turned on the radio to his favorite easy listening station; this one tended to play lots of songs from the 70's and 80's and he was enjoying the memories they brought back to him, especially now that he was reconnected with Amy.

A man's voice came through the speakers announcing an event that evening. It put a smile on Bobby's face as he realized that it was just the thing to perk Amy up, take their minds off the stress of the hearing, and provide a fun evening for the two of them. He grabbed his cell phone at a red light, and pulled out his wallet. Finding the business card he wanted, he quickly dialed a number, made his request and hung up. He smiled all the way home.

Amy was stressed and pissed when she arrived at her house. The day had been particularly rough as she was struggling with self-doubt over the weight of her testimony and the guilt of having realized that any reduction of James Murphy's sentence, or even his being released, could quite possibly be all her fault. She was terrified of being charged with obstruction of justice, even though everyone had told her she had nothing to worry about. Not even a phone call from District Attorney Jack McCoy was putting her at ease right now.

As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, she realized that she was in desperate need of a long soak in a hot bath and a glass of wine.

She turned on the small radio sitting on the bathroom shelf then turned on the bathtub, adjusting the water until it was the right temperature. She went back through her bedroom, pulling off her jewelry and dropping it in the small crystal dish on her dresser. She kicked her heels into the closet and stepped into her slippers then made her way back down the stairs. She had just enough time to pour a glass of wine before she needed to turn off the water.

The sound of the doorbell ringing as Amy returned the bottle to the wine cooler caused her to jump. Who could that be, she wondered.

Grabbing the glass of wine, she padded to the front door and pulled it open.

Bobby stood on the front stoop and as the door swung open, he pushed his way inside.

"Hi," he said, more cheerfully than she had seen him in a while. He reached out and snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her towards him for a hug. He smoothly side-stepped away from the door and gently closed it with his foot.

"Bobby," Amy exclaimed. She stuck the hand holding the wine glass out away from them, trying desperately to keep it from spilling.

Bobby reached out and took the glass from her, setting it down on the table near the door. He then wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her firmly on the mouth. He felt her stiffen and start, then relax.

Shyly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and began to kiss him back. Bravely, she parted her lips slightly, encouraging him to kiss her deeply. She heard his sharp intake of breath right before his tongue plundered the depths of her mouth and rendered her senseless.

Slowly, they lessened the kiss and pulled away from each other. Bobby looked at Amy, taking in the flush of her cheeks and closed eyes and smiled.

"What are you doing tonight," he asked her.

"Mmm," Amy questioned.

"I said, what are you doing tonight?"

Suddenly, Amy came to her senses.

"Oh! My bath!" She pulled away from him and ran up the stairs to her bathroom, Bobby right behind her.

They took in the overflowing bathtub, the soaked bathmat and the water creeping towards the door and the carpeted bedroom. Bobby moved quickly to the tub and turned off the taps. He then shed his leather jacket and carefully reached into the hot water to open the drain.

Amy began pulling towels out of the cabinet and throwing them onto the floor. "Oh," she whined as she began to sop up the water. "My bath, it's ruined!"

"I take it this is what you were going to be doing tonight," Bobby asked as he joined her in sopping up the floor.

"Along with that glass of wine we left downstairs," Amy said sadly. "I was hoping to decompress."

"Well, since your bath is ruined, how would you like to decompress with me?"

Amy looked askance at Bobby, eyeing him suspiciously. "And just what did you have in mind?"

"Dinner, for starters," Bobby told her as he wiped up the last of the water. He stood and tossed the soggy towel into the now empty bathtub. Reaching out to her, he took her wet towel and tossed it in the tub with the other one. Then he reached down one more time; pulling her into his arms, he danced her out into the bedroom and twirled her.

"A little dancing after," he told her. "There's more, but I don't want to give away everything." His eyes danced now as he teased her.

"I don't know," Amy hedged. "I'm tired, I'm mentally beat, and I have to be back at Andrew's office first thing in the morning." She pushed off of him and moved away as she spoke.

"I happen to know that Andrew's 'first thing in the morning', is really 9 am," Bobby responded. "Please come with me," he begged. "I need to escape from all the evidence sorting I've been doing the last several days, and I thought you'd like to eat dinner and unwind with me. I promise to have you home by 12." He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, remembering how she could never resist when he did that back when they were dating.

It worked again, too. Amy gave him a half smile and sighed; she knew he had done that on purpose, and she chastised him for it, giving him a good-natured slap on the arm.

He just grinned at her.

"Okay, okay. You win. I'll go. I need to get ready, though. What time to we have to be there?"

Bobby looked at his watch. "8 and it's 6 now. We need to leave in 30 minutes."

"30 minutes," Amy exclaimed. "Are you kidding me? I can't be ready in 30 minutes! Get out of here!" She shoved Bobby and pushed him towards her bedroom door.

"Amy, stop," Bobby begged, laughing. "You look great. Trust me. We're not going any place fancy. Casual is fine."

"Maybe so, but wet pants are not," she said, indicating the wet patches on the knees of her pants.

Bobby laughed with her. "How much time do you need? Nothing fancy, okay?"

"Okay. Give me ten minutes and I'll meet you downstairs," she smiled at him. "Go on, you," she shoved him playfully towards the door, and he left, his laughter filling the space behind him.

* * *

"I'm stuffed," Amy declared as she pushed the red plastic basket away from her.

"You didn't eat all your fries," Bobby said as he took several of hers and dunked them in ketchup.

She smiled as she watched him eat the fries, remembering how much he loved French fries.

"I couldn't eat another bite," Amy said. "That was one of the best burgers I've had in a long time."

"You don't eat hamburgers anymore," Bobby asked. He was remembering her extreme fondness for cheeseburgers back when they were dating.

"Rarely. Ever since Trey was born, I've really had to watch what I eat or I gain weight."

Amy noticed the change in Bobby's eyes and she quickly apologized. "I'm sorry; that was uncalled for."

"No, it wasn't. I'm completely unaware of just how much being pregnant with Trey has changed you; I'm eager to learn, if you'll share with me."

Amy thought about that comment for a minute, and then answered slowly. "I used to imagine being with you again and pouring everything out to you and picturing how you'd respond. Sometimes you'd be delighted and interested, but other times you'd be angry and resentful and my mind would imagine all sorts of terrible things that you'd say and do. Now that I'm actually in front of you again, and have the opportunity, it's not so easy."

"You know I can't guarantee that I won't get angry or upset, but you can be assured that I'll still want to be here, around you and a part of your life. No matter how large or small that part may be."

"I know. It's just a huge scary risk, you know?"

"I know. It's scary for me to hear what all you've been through. I'm glad you had your parents and grandparents, though. I'd hate to think you went through everything by yourself."

"I'm glad I had them, too," Amy told him. "But, I don't think you brought me here to talk about that. You said something about dancing and a 'mystery activity'……" her voice trailed off as she looked questioningly at him.

"I did. And I fully intend for us to do both. If you're done, I'll pay and we'll get out of here."

'Here' was a small diner on Houston Street known as "K'Rod's Diner". The owner, Kathy Rodgers, had known Bobby since he first started out in the NYPD in Narcotics. He worked this area frequently, and Kathy would feed him and his co-workers regularly as a thank you for all their hard work in cleaning up the neighborhood. As a result, they would all bring their friends and family in, spreading the word among the force that "K'Rod's Diner" was THE place in lower Manhattan for burgers and fries.

Kathy had been delighted to see them, and surprised them by declaring that she recognized Amy from her pictures in the society pages. Amy had blushed furiously and insisted that Kathy not treat her any differently from her other customers, but could tell that Kathy was honored Amy was eating in a place such as hers. Later, Amy was able to tell Kathy that she wasn't really a 'true' society maven, as she had grown up an "Army brat." This had fueled more conversation as Kathy had relatives that had been in the Army. The two ladies would have spent the whole evening chatting had Bobby not broken them apart by complaining good-naturedly that he was very hungry, and would Kathy please go fix his burger for him personally?

Now, the three hugged like old friends after Bobby had paid the check, and Kathy insisted that Amy stop by again. It had come out over the course of the evening that Amy and Bobby had a son and now a grandson. Kathy had exclaimed over the pictures and now reminded Amy that she needed to bring Hudson in soon for some free ice cream.

Laughing and waving good-bye, Amy and Bobby made their way back out onto the sidewalk.

"Oh, that was good," Amy said as she took Bobby's arm. "I like Kathy. You must have made quite an impression on her for her to remember you after all these years."

"We cleaned up some really nasty drug dealers from this area when I was in Narcotics. There are lots of grateful business owners around here who still thank us today. Some of the guys from back then are retired now, and they still get free burgers from Kathy from time to time," Bobby commented as they slowly walked up the block.

"Are you ready to go dancing," he asked her.

"And how! I need to work off this dinner so I don't get fat!"

"Oh, you could never get fat. You're still as beautiful as ever."

Amy blushed. "You wouldn't say that if you saw me naked."

Bobby stopped and turned to face her. He lifted her chin with his finger and caught her eye. "You," he stated firmly. "Are the mother of my child. No matter what happens, you will always be beautiful to me. Whatever changed about your body, changed because you brought life into this world. Don't ever be ashamed of that. Ever." He kissed her softly on the forehead and started to walk away.

Amy stood frozen on the sidewalk. Damn you, Bobby Goren, she thought. Why did you have to go and say the perfect thing? She fought back the tears that threatened to fall and began to blur her vision.

Bobby took a few steps before he realized she wasn't coming with him. He turned and saw her standing where he had left her. He saw the expression on her face and realized she was fighting back tears. Swiftly, he pulled out his handkerchief and returned to stand in front of her.

He gently placed the soft square of cloth in her hand. She looked down at it, then back up at him.

"Are you okay," he asked her softly.

At that, several of the tears she had fought so hard to contain slipped loose from her eyes and began to move slowly down her cheeks. She dabbed at them with the hanky and nodded.

"Amy," he said slowly, as he reached out and gently tucked her hair behind her ear.

She nearly came completely undone by the gesture. She struggled violently to regain her composure; there was no way she was going to lose it out here on the sidewalk in the middle of Houston Street.

"I," Amy began before a small sob escaped. "Oh, hell. Now you've made me cry," she wailed softly as the tears began to flow faster. She pressed the hanky hard into her eyes in a vain attempt to stanch the flow.

Bobby just stood there, staring at her, unable to comprehend.

"You said I was beautiful," she sniffed as she explained her tears to him. "It's been a while since anyone other than family has said I was beautiful and wasn't talking about my appearance. You were talking about _me_."

She sniffed and dabbed her eyes again as comprehension swept over Bobby and he began to relax and smile. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into him and holding her snug. He could feel her sniff a few more times and realized that she was relaxed and these were happy tears. He felt her gently push at him, and he lowered his arms to rest his hands on her waist, allowing her to take a small step back, but still be held by him.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I guess I'm just all worked up about the hearing, and not feeling so hot about myself right now, and you were just so sweet and sincere, and I," a small hiccup escaped and she took a deep breath against the sobs that threatened to overtake her.

Bobby gently squeezed her waist as he quietly looked at her. "It's been rough for all of us, which is why I wanted to get you out of the house."

He checked his watch quickly before he continued. "We'd better hurry. It's nearly 8 o'clock." He took her hand and gently tugged as he started to walk, this time at a quicker pace.

"Bobby," she fussed with a laugh. "You're dragging me down the street."

He could hear the change in her voice and smiled as he pulled her over to his side. He wrapped his arm around her waist and rested his hand on her hip. She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder, giving him a playful bump with her upper arm.

"Hey!"

Amy giggled. "Thank you," she said softly and sincerely.

"Anytime," he answered, and found he meant it.

* * *

The 'surprise' he had mentioned turned out to be the nightclub he took her to. She knew the place; had been there once or twice before. It was one of those places where you had to know someone or be someone to get in, and then you almost always had to be there early to get a table.

Tonight there was a line stretching from the door down the sidewalk, and an air of excitement over those waiting. She noticed everyone had a ticket and almost everyone had a camera. She was surprised by this, and wondered what was going on that night.

Bobby had her even more surprised when he walked right past the line and up to the door. The man checking the tickets looked up at him.

"Robert!" The man stuck out his hand and shook Bobby's heartily. "Long time no see, man! You make detective and suddenly you're no good for us anymore," he joked.

"No, I've just been too busy doing serious police work to hang around down here staring at your ugly face," Bobby answered as he returned the man's handshake and followed it with a clap on his shoulder.

"Marshall, I'd like to you meet someone." He reached back and motioned Amy forward. "Amy, this is Marshall Keene, an old friend of mine from Narcotics. Marshall, this is Amy Wainwright."

A look of stunned recognition came over Marshall's face as he gently shook Amy's hand. He looked at Bobby.

"Yeah, her," Bobby stated. "Is Claire around? She's holding us tickets and promised me the best seats in the house tonight."

"Oh, so you're the ones. She told me we were having special guests tonight. Won't let Elaine seat anyone at that table and won't tell us who it's for, or why." He gestured over his shoulder with a nod of his head. "You two go on in. Tell Elaine you're the special guests she's holding that table for."

Marshall smiled and nodded at Amy. "It was nice meeting you. Enjoy the show ma'am." He shot Bobby a look that said he had some explaining to do and turned back to his duties as doorman and ticket taker.

The table Elaine seated them at was in the middle of the front row. Claire had stopped by shortly after they were seated and greeted them warmly. As she shook hands with Amy, she explained that she and Bobby went way back to his years in the Police Academy, where he was in the same class as her brother Richard. Richard had been Bobby's first partner in Narcotics, until he was killed in a massive drug raid on an abandoned warehouse several blocks from here. Richard had stepped in front of Bobby, who had turned around to fire on another drug dealer, and had taken the bullet intended for him. Claire and Bobby now shared a special bond that few could understand, but Amy could appreciate.

In front of their table was a low stage area. To the right of the stage was a small dance floor. Their table was directly in front of a grand piano. From her seat, she would be able to watch the pianist play.

She beamed at him in her excitement. "Who is it," she asked.

Bobby leaned over the table and covered her hand with his. His only answer was a smile.

Amy tilted her head and was about to admonish him when Claire brought over their drinks. "I hope you enjoy the show," she said as she left.

Now Amy was really curious, and dying to know who they were there to see, but before she could question Bobby again, the lights dimmed and the crowd settled into quiet anticipation.

A shadowed figure walked to the piano, sat down and began to play. Amy gasped as she recognized the opening bars of "The Homecoming" and realized who she was watching. She couldn't speak as she became carried away by the beautiful music and the emotional performance unfolding in front of her.

Bobby watched her, still holding her hand, and smiled. He had pleased her, and that pleased him. He noticed her expression change as she became carried away on the notes. He took in the way she closed her eyes and moved with each phrase, almost as though she was becoming one with the music. She pulled her hand from his; he noticed her fingers moving perfectly with each note and phrase and realized that she also played this piece.

As the last notes faded away, and the audience began to applaud appreciatively, Amy sighed and opened her eyes. She turned a moist, dreamy expression towards Bobby. "Thank you," she breathed. "Jim Brickman. How did you know?"

Bobby thought she had never looked more beautiful as he leaned in towards her. "I didn't, not for sure, but thought at least you'd enjoy hearing another pianist."

They turned back towards the stage, applauding lightly as the lights came up and Jim Brickman began to address the appreciative crowd.

Jim stayed on stage for nearly two hours, playing and visiting with the crowd. He took a few requests, cracked a few jokes, even had a singer come out and join him for a few numbers.

Finally, Jim signaled for the lights to come up slightly more. Removing the microphone from its holder on the piano, he rose and moved towards the edge of the low stage and addressed the crowd.

"A friend of mine is here tonight," he smiled to the audience. "Her name is Amy. Everyone say, 'Hi, Amy.'"

"Hi, Amy," the crowd responded, looking around to see who Jim was talking about.

From her seat in the front row, Amy blushed and turned her face towards Bobby, who was smiling curiously. "Oh, no, please, don't," Amy whispered. She suddenly wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

"She sings, too," Jim said next. "Would you like to hear her sing?"

"Yeah," the crowd responded eagerly.

Jim moved to stand in front of Amy and extended his hand to her. "Amy?"

She glared at Jim; looked from him to Bobby, her eyes begging him to save her. Instead, Bobby applauded with the crowd then leaned over to her.

"Go on," he said softly. "Sing something for me. Please?"

Amy sighed and looked back at Jim, who was now waving his arm and urging the crowd to applaud louder in the hopes of getting her to join him on the stage.

When Jim extended his hand to her again, she took it, and allowed him to guide her from her chair and onto the stage. He handed her a microphone and grinned at her. "What would you like to sing," he asked her softly.

She shot him a look that would turn anyone to stone as she searched her memory for the perfect song. Amy then leaned towards Jim and they had a brief, quiet conversation. Then she turned back towards the audience and began to sing.

"There's a saying old, says that love is blind," he voice had a lyrical, light quality as she sang alone. Jim filled in between her sung phrases with minimal accompaniment.

"Still we're often told, seek and ye shall find," Amy continued, smiling to the crowd.

Bobby was surprised but thrilled that she would choose Gershwin. He listened as her voice nimbly handled the lyrical beginning then moved silkily into the well-loved chorus, rising and falling emotionally with each phrase. He admired how Jim Brickman was able to follow Amy perfectly, building his accompaniment as her singing built and swelled. He took in the wistful tone and wondered how much of her singing was performance for the audience and how much was really the cry of her heart. By the time she sang "Someone to watch over me" for the third time, Bobby found himself wishing he was the one she was searching for.

The song ended, the crowd applauded and Bobby was jolted back to reality. Amy smiled and bowed slightly, then gestured towards Jim, encouraging the crowd to acknowledge him as well. She placed the microphone on the piano and started to leave the stage when Jim stopped her, asking the crowd if they'd like to hear more. She had noticed Bobby watching as she sang and was wondering what he thought; she was eager to get off the stage and ask him how he thought she had done.

Giving into the crowd's request for an encore, she decided to lighten the mood with her next song. She told Jim what she wanted to sing then launched into song.

"When I was just a girl, I asked my mother what would I be. Would I be pretty? Would I be rich? Here's what she said to me."

Amy then directed the crowd to join her on the chorus, and they all sang loudly, "Que, Sera, Sera…….whatever will be will be……the future's not ours to see……Que Sera, Sera."

There were several more verses, and after each one she encouraged the crowd to sing along with her. By the time she reached the end of the last verse the crowd was fully into it, singing loudly and swaying back and forth. They all boisterously sang the chorus several times before Amy gestured for a big finish. Afterwards, there was loud applause, cheering and laughter, and Amy took the opportunity to leave the stage and join Bobby back at their table.

"You were wonderful," Bobby leaned over and told her with a smile.

Several people sitting around them also extended their compliments as well. Amy accepted their praise gratefully and thanked them softly.

Later, after dancing to the tunes of an 80's cover band that took the stage after Jim Brickman, they left the club, slipping out into the warm August night.

"That was so much fun," Amy exhorted. "Thank you, Bobby. Thank you so much. I really needed that."

"You're welcome," Bobby said, returning her smile. He slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and they began to walk back towards his car.

"So," he said softly, bumping her gently with his arm. "Just how do you know Jim Brickman, and how does he know you can sing?"

"He has worked several events the winery has been involved in. One was for a very dear friend of mine who requested that I sing several songs for her. Jim was impressed and complimented me on my performance and my singing. I in turn complimented him and told him I was a long-time admirer of his piano playing. We've performed together at a few events since; never more than two or three songs, though."

Amy cast a sideways glance at Bobby as he took in her words and nodded.

"What was with that look Marshall shot you back at the door when we got here? And just what exactly did you mean when you said, 'yeah, her'?"

Bobby looked embarrassedly towards the ground as he shrugged.

"Bobby." Amy used her "Mommy Voice", dragging out his name as though he was about to be in big trouble.

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck then took a deep breath. "Marshall and I went through the academy together and were partners for a year afterwards. We did a few stakeouts together; the kind where you sit up all night outside a building, hoping and praying your suspect will show up soon so you get out of there. Somehow, one night, the conversation turned to women, especially the ones that got away. He knows about you and I know about Charlotte. Or rather, I know enough about her to know he was still madly in love with her at the time."

"But, don't worry. I never told him your last name or that you were a wealthy Manhattan socialite who's picture was often in the Sunday Times and The New Yorker Magazine. I would have never heard the end of it if I'd told him that."

"Why didn't you tell him that? I thought all you guys were into 'one-upping' each other when it came to your exploits with women," she teased, although she was secretly touched that he had protected her like that.

"I don't know. It never seemed that important to you when we were dating, so it didn't seem pertinent at the time. It was also selfish. If the guys in my squad back then found out that I had once dated someone like you and let you get away, they would have ridden my case about it and made my life miserable."

They had reached his car, and Bobby leaned over to unlock and open the door for her.

On impulse, she kissed his cheek as he did, following it with a soft murmur of thanks. Their eyes met, full of understanding and appreciation. He pulled the door open and she slid into the front seat.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

It was Sunday evening, and Trey was in his study looking over his calendar for the week. His gaze landed on Tuesday: Hudson was due to get his cast off, but the Foundation and the winery were both behind in their appointments because of the hearing. He was overbooked and needed help.

He leaned over and hit Christy's call button on the intercom. She answered, but had to apologize, reminding Trey that she had already asked for Tuesday off to go with her mother to a doctor's appointment. He knew his grandparents were busy; they had asked him to go with them up to Utica to handle winery business on that end.

Trey sighed. He ran his hand through his hair and across the back of his neck then chuckled as he realized what he had just done. He recalled his mom telling him that Bobby did the exact same thing.

Bobby. Maybe Bobby would take Hudson to the doctor.

Trey reached for the phone, uncertain as to what the answer would be, but realizing he had no choice.

Bobby was all too happy to help; he offered to pick Hudson up and take him for breakfast before the appointment, then to watch him for the rest of the day. He promised Trey that he would make sure Hudson had a nap and a good lunch. They settled the rest of the arrangements, said their goodnights and hung up.

Trey rose from his desk and left the office, relieved that things would work out for Tuesday. He went upstairs to the nursery to check on Hudson.

AJ had offered to put his great-grandson to bed, and the two were deep in the middle of "Goodnight Moon" when Trey looked into the room.

"Daddy," Hudson said cheerily. "Moon, Daddy! Moon!"

Trey entered the room and crossed to the rocking chair. "You reading "Goodnight Moon, buddy?"

Hudson nodded and pointed to the book. "I see mouse!"

"All right," Trey chuckled. "Can I sit here and listen," he asked as he settled himself on the floor.

"O-tay, Daddy!"

AJ finished the book and gave Hudson a hug and a kiss, then passed him off to Trey. "Goodnight, Hudson."

"Night, AJ," Hudson answered sleepily. He laid his head on Trey's shoulder and gently patted his dad on the arm.

"Nigh', nigh' Daddy," he said with a yawn.

"Night, night, little man," Trey said as he hugged his son. "I love you."

Trey gently placed Hudson in the crib and covered him with a blanket. He rubbed the small boy's back as the child settled into the mattress and closed his eyes. He walked back out into the hall, turning off the light as he left the room.

Upon entering his own bedroom, his gaze landed on the picture frame on his dresser. As he picked it up and carried it over to the bed, tears began to well in his eyes. The photo in the frame was his most treasured possession; it was a photo of Laura pushing Hudson in a swing. The joy on both their faces was priceless. He had loved the photo from the moment he took it that day in the park, but Laura's suggestion that they print it in black and white had been pure genius. She had surprised him a few days later by bringing home the simple silver frame, placing the photo inside it and then putting it on his dresser; he found it when he got home from work.

Grief overwhelmed him and he sank back onto the bed, clutching the photo to his chest, and cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Hudson was beside himself. Trey had told him that 'Boppy' was coming to take care of him and they would be going out for breakfast and to the doctor to get Hudson's cast taken off. Trey had told him it wouldn't hurt and that he needed to be very still and very brave for the doctor. Now he was watching impatiently out the window for Bobby's arrival.

Bobby could hear Hudson's screams of delight as he came into view of the window, and laughed as he saw a little blond head disappear. As he climbed the steps to the front door, he could hear running and hollering and banging on the door.

"Hey," Trey greeted him as Hudson slammed into his legs. Deftly, Bobby scooped up the little boy for a hug, then shook hands with Trey as Hudson clung to his neck.

Trey laughed. "You're a natural," he commented, noting how well Bobby was juggling both child and handshake.

They went upstairs for a last minute check of supplies in the large navy diaper bag, then down to the kitchen to double check the snack stash. After confirming times and needs with Trey, Hudson and Bobby were out the door.

Breakfast was more fun than Bobby had imagined. He knew where the doctor's clinic was and was able to take Hudson to a breakfast spot popular with the police department and the courthouse about two blocks from Centre Street and six blocks from the clinic. There Hudson entertained Bobby's colleagues with his antics and charmed everyone with his good behavior and healthy appetite.

Next, it was off to the clinic. Hudson was initially nervous about having his arm held still, but the thought of choosing a sucker from Nurse Shawn after it was over was enough to keep him calm. Bobby was unsure of the handsaw the doctor used to remove the plaster piece, but calmed somewhat after noticing the doctor's sure hand and quick work removing the cast.

The office knew Bobby would be bringing Hudson by for his appointment and were pleased to be meeting Hudson's granddaddy. They all got a kick out of Hudson calling him "Boppy", and several off the nurses giggled when their teasing caused Bobby to blush. There was some initial difficulty getting Hudson out of the playroom in the front waiting area as they were trying to leave, but the reminder of going to the zoo distracted him just long enough for Bobby to be able to pick him up and make a quick getaway.

Bobby's cell rang as they were entering the parking garage of the medical center. He pulled it out of his pocket and swore under his breath when he saw the name on the screen: Ross.

"Yes, Captain," he answered.

"Detective, sorry to bother you like this," Ross started. Bobby groaned inwardly at his captain's tone of voice; it was the tone he used when he had bad news.

"We've just had some evidence come in on the Stoneburgh case and we need you to come in and take a look at it."

"Right now? I've got my grandson with me; we were headed to the park and then lunch. Can't this wait?"

"No. The DA wants to get this case before the Grand Jury as soon as possible. Since you and Eames made the arrest, I need you here to look over this material with her. Bring him with you and I'll keep an eye on him."

"Yes, sir."

Bobby sighed as he hung up the phone.

"Well, little man, you get to see where Boppy works. Won't that be fun?"

Hudson raised his hands over his head and shouted, "Yay", then began to hit Bobby on the chest.

Bobby grabbed his hand. "Hudson," he admonished the boy, taking the same tone he'd noticed Trey and Amy use to great effect. "Don't hit Boppy."

They reached the car and Bobby put Hudson in his car seat and they set off for One Police Plaza.

After they were parked in the parking garage, Bobby pulled out his shield and slipped it onto his jacket pocket. He pulled his employee nametag off the visor and clipped it to his pocket as well. He slung Hudson's bag over his shoulder and took him out of his car seat. After checking for traffic, he allowed Hudson to get down and walk to the elevator, sensing the child needed to stretch his legs.

Hudson eagerly banged on the elevator call button, and was amazed as the doors magically opened. He was awed by the two police officers who exited the elevator.

"Pieceman! Gun," he shouted.

The two officers grinned at the small child and nodded at Bobby as they passed.

Hudson pulled Bobby's arm as he excitedly entered the elevator. Bobby picked him up once they reached the main floor. As they exited the elevator, Hudson suddenly became overwhelmed and shy and pulled into Bobby. Instinctively, Bobby hitched the child farther up on his arm and pulled him close.

"It's okay, Hudson. We're going to Boppy's work and you're going to get to meet some more policemen. Won't that be fun?"

Shyly, Hudson's big blue eyes met his grandfather's, and he nodded.

"That's my boy," Bobby said softly.

They quickly passed through security and made their way to the desk on the main floor.

"Good morning, Officer Andrews," he greeted the woman behind the counter. Officer Ramona Andrews was a fixture behind the main counter, having worked there ever since he could remember, and probably for many years before that.

"Good morning, Detective Goren," she greeted him back with a big smile. "And who is this," she asked as she smiled at Hudson.

"This is my grandson, Hudson," Bobby told her. "He's going to be helping me at work today and needs an ID badge."

"Well, okay," Andrews responded cheerily. She pulled out a clipboard and attached a form to it. She quickly filled in the information as Bobby answered the questions. Bobby signed the sheet, and she motioned them over to the camera mounted on top of a computer monitor.

"Now, I need to take your picture, young man," she told Hudson.

Hudson pulled back and turned his head, burying it in Bobby's neck.

"Hudson," Bobby softly addressed the child, trying to pull him off his shoulder and turn him around. The boy grabbed on tight and pressed himself even harder into his grandfather's body.

Bobby lowered the diaper bag to the ground and squatted down next to it, out of sight of the officer and her camera. He set Hudson's feet on the ground and began to talk to him.

"Hudson, we have to take your picture so you can go upstairs to Boppy's work. Don't you want to do that?"

The boy shook his head no.

Bobby sighed and tried again to peel the child away from him. Hudson began to wail "no", his cries getting louder and louder the more Bobby tried to remove the boy from around his neck. Desperation began to build inside of Bobby as he continued to try to reason with the boy over his screams. It was becoming embarrassing; people were staring at them or looking disdainfully in his direction as they passed.

Inspiration struck and he pulled his own ID tag off his jacket before speaking softly to the child again.

"I have an ID tag with my picture on it. You wanna see it?"

Hudson released one arm and pulled back slightly to see the item in his grandfather's hand.

"See? There's my picture," he pointed as he spoke gently. "And there's my name and where I work. And there's even a picture of a police badge on here. Yours will look just like this, only with your picture and your name. Would you like to have one?"

Hudson took the badge from Bobby and studied it.

"Do you want one, too," Bobby asked him again gently.

Hudson nodded. Bobby picked him up and stood. They turned and faced the camera again. Bobby wiped Hudson's face with his hankie and tried to push the unruly blonde curls into some semblance of order.

Officer Alexander chuckled and smiled at him. "Well done, Detective," she said warmly. "I have several of my own and you handled that really well."

"Thanks," Bobby replied sheepishly. "I thought for a moment there I was going to be arrested if I couldn't get him to behave."

"Oh, I wouldn't let that happen," Alexander said. "Now, what is your name young man?"

"It's Hudson," Bobby told her.

"Hey, Hudson," she called, her hand on the button to snap the picture. She made a silly face and waved, causing the boy to laugh and smile. Expertly, she punched the button, the camera snapped, and it was all over.

"There! I got your picture in my computer," Alexander told Hudson. "Would you like to see it?"

Hudson nodded and she motioned for Bobby to come closer.

"Would you like to come over here and help me," she asked. When Hudson pulled back slightly she said, "Detective, why don't you come back here and you can hold him while he helps me."

Bobby grabbed the bag and joined the officer behind the counter. Hudson pointed at the screen when he saw his image.

"Da's me," he exclaimed.

"Yes, that's you," Bobby echoed.

Officer Alexander explained what she was doing as she positioned the picture of Hudson onto the ID template.

"Now, I move your picture with my mouse, like this. And then, I need you to push this button right here."

She pointed at the "enter" key, and Bobby leaned in as Hudson stretched out his hand and gingerly pressed the button. He looked up at her uncertainly and she smiled and told him he had done well.

"Would you like to see where your card will come out? You can watch for it and give it to me."

Hudson nodded. Alexander pointed to the printer and Bobby walked over and stood next to it while she hit the print button.

Hudson excitedly watched the printer with wide blue eyes and eager anticipation. Bobby quietly told him what the printer was doing as it made noises and the card started to print and slide out of the machine.

A very happy Hudson picked up the finished card and stuck his hand out towards Officer Alexander. She gave him a big smile as she punched a hole in the tag and fastened a small lanyard to it.

"I figured this would be better than a clip," she said knowingly to Bobby, who nodded in agreement. Bobby encouraged Hudson to say thank you to the officer, then slipped the lanyard around the boy's neck and they headed for the elevator. Hudson admired his tag all the way up to the eleventh floor, comparing his to Bobby's and chattering happily.

As the elevator opened, they came face to face with Alex Eames.

"Hello," Bobby said as he stepped off the elevator.

"Here, let me get that," she said, reaching out to relieve Bobby of the diaper bag. "Never thought I'd see you carrying one of these," she joked.

"Same here," he answered.

It seemed as though the whole squad room was waiting for them, as conversation ceased and heads turned in their direction as Bobby, Hudson and Alex entered the bullpen.

Captain Ross looked up from Megan Wheeler's desk where they had been going over evidence with Wheeler's partner, Mike Logan.

"Hello, Detective," Ross said drolly. "We heard you were downstairs trying to get an ID tag made."

"Word travels fast around here," Bobby responded. "Thought I was gonna get arrested for child abuse, he was screaming so loud about getting his picture taken."

"Unfamiliar surroundings will do that to a child," Ross said knowledgeably. "Whenever you'd like me to take him, just let me know."

"Will do, Captain. Let's just let him adjust first," Bobby said as he sat down at his desk.

Hudson immediately reached out and grabbed a pen off the desk and began waving it around. Soon he was reaching for everything on the desk, and Bobby could hardly keep up with all the items that were being moved around, grabbed, dropped, and played with. When he bent over to retrieve an item off the floor for the third time, he'd had enough.

**All right, Hudson, that's enough," **Bobby said sternly. **Needs opening quotation**

Eames stifled a giggle as she reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a coloring book and some crayons.

"Here, try these. They're left over from when my nephew was here last week," she said defensively.

Bobby just winked and gave her a lopsided grin as he took the proffered items. He opened the book and smartly handed the boy one crayon and moved the box out of his reach. Hudson shrieked with glee when he saw the book; it had large pictures of trucks and he happily began to scribble on the pages.

Bobby soon became Goren, the focused detective, as he and Eames dove into the latest lab results. He became so immersed in the evidence and results in front of him, that he forgot there was a crayon wielding toddler on his lap. It wasn't until he heard Captain Ross clear his throat to gain his attention that he realized what was happening on the desk in front of him. Hudson had scribbled broad, bright red strokes of crayon on one DNA results sheet and was reaching for another when Eames deftly snatched it out of his hand and Bobby pushed the chair back.

"Oh, no," Bobby exclaimed.

"Perhaps someone would like a snack," Ross asked Hudson. He was trying to focus on the startled child, who was about to start crying, and not laugh at his detective's poor parenting skills. "Would you like a donut, young man?"

"It's all right, Hudson," Bobby said softly. "This is Captain Ross. He has two boys of his own."

Hudson eyed Captain Ross warily and turned his large, tear-filled eyes back to his grandfather.

"Would you like something to eat," Bobby tried asking next.

"Eat," Hudson echoed. "Eat," he repeated louder.

Ross squatted down next to Bobby's chair and addressed the child softly. "I know where there are donuts. Do you like donuts?"

Hudson nodded. "Joose," he said firmly.

"Is there juice in his bag," Ross asked Bobby.

Bobby nodded and Ross picked up the bag and reached his hand out towards Hudson. "Why don't you come over here with me and help me find your juice. Then we'll get a donut and let your granddaddy get some work done."

Hudson slipped off Bobby's lap and took hold of Ross's hand. Together they headed off to the break room in search of donuts.

Eames just shook her head as she watched them walk away, then she turned and looked at Bobby, a wry grin on her face.

"Ross looks happier than I've seen him in a while. You should bring Hudson around more often."

"We'll see about that," Bobby said. "He hasn't turned this place upside down yet. Amy says he can be a real handful once he gets going. Sorry about the DNA report."

He held up the ruined report.

"No worries," Eames said as she held up another, clean, copy of the same report. "DNA sent down multiple copies."

They smiled at each other in relief and re-focused on the work in front of them.

Hudson had amazed Ross by quickly spotting the donuts on the counter in the break room. He pushed a chair over to the counter, climbed up on it, carefully chose a donut, then turned around and sat on the chair and started eating. Ross took the opportunity to dig through the bag for the sippy cup of juice and then fixed himself a cup of coffee. When Hudson was finished with his donut, Ross found the wipes in the bag and cleaned the child up.

The two made their way back into the bullpen, Hudson drinking his juice and Ross drinking his coffee. Ross steered the child into his office, deliberately keeping him away from his grandfather so that he and his partner could get their work finished.

Hudson was fascinated with Ross's office. He dropped his sippy cup onto the floor and climbed up into one of the chairs facing the Captain's desk. Before Ross could react, the nimble toddler had stood up on the chair and leaned over onto the desk. He was picking up a pen when Ross reached the desk and gently guided the little boy back into the chair.

"Easy now, son. You'll fall off and hurt yourself."

Hudson fussed at having been moved away from the desk, but soon his attention was diverted when he spotted the trash can under the desk.

As Ross moved around to place his coffee on the desk, Hudson slid down off the chair and under the desk, headed for the trash can. Ross set down his mug and was about to sit in his chair when the phone rang.

"Ross," he answered. It was Elizabeth Rodgers, the Medical Examiner. She was calling to give him an update on an autopsy and to ask him a few more questions. Lost in concentration, Ross forgot about the small boy until the call was over.

As he hung up the phone and sat down in his chair, he noticed the mess on the floor and the happy toddler who was sitting next to the can, joyously tearing a sheet of paper. Fighting back the urge to yell, he thought back to when his own boys were that age. Kneeling down on the floor, he asked the child if he'd like to play a game.

Hudson nodded, his full attention on the captain.

"I'm going to take piece of paper and make a ball and you are going to throw the ball into here." Ross pointed at the trash can. "All right?"

Hudson nodded eagerly.

Ross picked up some of the shredded paper, made a ball and handed it to Hudson. Hudson just sat there.

"Throw it into the can, like this," Ross made another ball and tossed it into the can. "Yay!"

"Yay," Hudson answered excitedly and threw his ball into the can. "I did it!"

"You did it," Ross agreed. They soon had the mess all cleaned up.

Ross stood and stretched, grinning when he noticed Hudson doing the same thing. Hudson then quickly climbed up into Ross's big, padded leather chair before Ross could sit down.

"Hey, you're in my chair," Ross told Hudson.

"My chair," Hudson answered back with a smile.

"No, that's my chair," Ross said, his eyes narrowed and hands on his hips, his voice teasing in tone.

"Mine," Hudson hollered with a giggle.

"Okay, you," Ross said as he scooped up the squealing child and sat down with the boy on his lap. "Let's share, okay?"

Hudson nodded and began to reach for a pen sitting out on the desk. Ross picked it up, clicked it open and handed it to Hudson. He slid up to the desk and put a blank sheet of paper out for the child to draw on. Ross sighed as he watched Hudson scribble intently. His mind drifted back to when his own sons were this age. They, too, had enjoyed going to "Daddy's work", sitting at his desk and drawing. As they got older, the boys had pretended they were policemen doing reports. He missed those days.

Hudson's "Uh, oh" brought him out of his reverie.

Ross looked at his desk. "Goren," he roared, startling Hudson, who began to wail.

Out in the squad room, Goren looked up at Eames.

"You'd better get in there," she told him.

Goren stopped in the doorway to the Captain's office and took in the scene in front of him. Hudson was standing near the desk, his head thrown back, wailing loudly. Ross was desperately mopping at his desk with tissues, grabbing papers and files and tossing them onto the chair behind him, muttering furiously under his breath about children in the workplace. As Bobby studied the scene further, he realized the source of the problem: Hudson had knocked over the Captain's coffee mug. There was coffee all over the top of the desk and dripping onto the floor.

Bobby scooped up Hudson as Eames appeared behind him in the doorway.

"The captain needs paper towels," he told her as he grabbed the diaper bag and pushed past her out the door. He made a beeline for the men's room, sensing that the Captain needed to be as far away from Hudson as possible.

Once in the bathroom, Bobby was able to calm his grandson down and wipe his face with a cool, wet paper towel.

"Me do," Hudson said with a small sob.

Bobby allowed Hudson to take the paper towel from his hand. Hudson wiped his face again, then wadded up the towel.

"Throw," he said next.

Bobby set the boy down and watched in amusement as Hudson found the trash can and tossed in the balled up paper.

"Yay," the boy sang out as he raised his arms over his head. He grinned and laughed when Bobby copied him.

"Change," Hudson said, pulling at his pants.

"Oh," was all Bobby could say. He looked quickly around and realized there was no good place to change a diaper in here. The counter space was minimal, and the floor, well, there was no way Bobby was going to lay Hudson down on that floor to change his diaper.

They left the bathroom in search of a blanket. Bobby knew they kept a few blankets in the store room next to the elevator in case of emergencies. He quickly retrieved a blanket and they headed back into the bathroom.

Bobby was wise to Hudson's antics and this diaper change went much more smoothly than the last one. It helped, too, that the child was merely wet. Again, Hudson had to toss the balled up wet diaper into the trash, followed by a celebratory 'yay' from both of them.

Before they could leave the bathroom, Bobby needed to relieve himself. He handed Hudson a few small crackers and a snack bag Trey had packed, hoping those would keep the boy occupied long enough for Bobby to take care of business.

As Bobby stood in front of the urinal, Hudson was walking around, eating his snack and chattering happily. Bobby had not realized how badly he needed to go to the bathroom, or just how long it would take. As Hudson moved around in the room, Bobby lost sight of him. He thought things were okay as long as he could hear the child. Finally, he was finished. He pulled himself together and turned around.

There was toilet paper everywhere.

Hudson had wandered into the stall in the corner and unrolled the entire roll. He had somehow also managed to rip open the extra roll on the floor next to the toilet and was pulling long pieces of it off and throwing them on the floor.

"Paper," Hudson said, holding up a piece.

"Yeah, buddy, paper," Bobby said. He just stood there and rubbed his hands over his face.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Mike Logan walked in.

"Whoa," the detective said in his deep voice.

This startled Hudson, who looked over at the tall strange man. He dropped the roll of toilet paper he was holding and it rolled across the floor, paper trailing in its wake, and ran to Bobby. He grabbed his grandfather's legs and buried his face between them and began to cry.

Overcome with compassion, Bobby rubbed his hands over Hudson's head, trying to soothe the boy. As he talked softly to the child, the boy gradually lessened his tight hold on Bobby's pants, and Bobby was able to lift him up into his arms.

Logan walked over to Bobby, who introduced Hudson.

"Hello, Hudson," Logan said gently. He was not comfortable around children and walking in on the mess in the men's room had really caught him off guard. He could tell by looking at Bobby that Goren was torn between consoling his grandson and fussing at him for making a mess.

"Looks like you could use a hand cleaning up this mess," Logan said next.

"Thanks," Bobby said gratefully.

"Hudson, you need to help us clean up, okay," Bobby gently but firmly told him. Hudson nodded and Bobby put him back down on the floor.

Hudson looked at Logan, who had bent over and was scooping up an armful of toilet paper.

"Ball," he asked.

Logan looked quizzically at Bobby, who smiled wryly back and explained the rules of the game.

"Ah," said Logan. He quickly pressed the paper into a big wad and handed it over to a wide-eyed Hudson.

"Can you do this one," Logan asked.

Hudson very carefully carried the big wad in his arms to the trash can and triumphantly lifted it over his head and slam dunked it into the can.

"I did it," he yelled.

"You did it," Logan echoed. Maybe this kid thing isn't so bad after all, he thought to himself.

The three made short work of putting the bathroom back in order, then Bobby and Hudson left the bathroom.

The rest of the time in the squad room was interesting and crazy, to say the least. Hudson, energized by a donut, juice and crackers, was all over the place, climbing on chairs, crawling under desks and asking everyone for balls to throw away. Bobby and Ross were becoming exhausted trying to keep up with him.

Hudson's discovery that Logan's chair could spin elicited loud fits of laughter as the child went around and around in delight.

The other detectives tried to help out, inviting Hudson to come sit at their desks and draw or play on the computer. This would buy Goren some time to cram in studying the reports and evidence and help Eames with the analysis and their conclusions.

It was also discovered that Hudson had a dangerous 'stealth' mode. He began to quietly roam the squad room and soon they began to notice that a pen, or a stapler, or other various items were gone from their desks. Hudson would appear at someone's side to offer them the item he was currently toting around. Each detective in turn would thank Hudson politely and place the item on his or her desk, smiling and shaking their heads as the child moved on.

Lunch was brought in, and Bobby and Alex fed Hudson parts of their sandwich, supplemented by some apple slices and milk that Trey had packed that morning. Then, Hudson was off and wandering around the room.

By three o'clock, Bobby and Alex had finished. Alex would be partnering up with Detective Riche to re-question a witness and serve a search warrant on their number one suspect. She would call Bobby that evening with the results. They were hopeful an arrest could be made soon.

Bobby signed the last report, cleaned up his desk and returned Wheeler's stapler to her desk with a wink and a grin. He returned to his desk and began to put the various snack containers and sippy cups back into the diaper bag. He turned around and scanned the squad room for Hudson.

He couldn't see him at first, so he walked around and asked if anyone knew where he was.

No one had seen Hudson for a while; each assumed he was quietly sitting with someone else.

Panic began to rise in Bobby's throat and he forced himself to stay calm. Don't panic, he ordered himself. He's around here somewhere; he couldn't have gotten very far.

Eames saw the look on Bobby's face and walked over to him. Putting her hand on his arm she quietly asked him what was wrong.

"I can't find Hudson," Bobby said tightly.

"Okay," she nodded curtly. "You stay in here, and I'll get Wheeler to help me. We'll find him."

Bobby continued to move around the squad room. By now, everyone was aware of what was going on and soon they were all involved in the search.

It was Ross who found him.

"Detective," Ross said quietly. "Come with me."

Ross led Goren to the door of the conference room and pointed. There in the corner, curled up with his blanket, was a very sound asleep Hudson.

Bobby slumped with relief against the doorframe.

Ross patted him knowingly on the shoulder. "I've been there," he told his relieved detective softly. "It's scary. Why don't you take him home? We can finish up here."

Bobby very carefully lifted the sleeping child in his arms. Ross was still standing in the doorway, watching his best detective tackle his toughest assignment yet, as Bobby neared the door.

Without saying a word, Ross gently took the blanket. Bobby positioned the sleeping boy on his shoulder and Ross draped the blanket over him, then proudly followed him out the door.

Eames met him by the elevator and helped Bobby slip the diaper bag over his shoulder.

"I put your binder inside the bag," she said. She handed him his cell phone, which he slipped into his pocket.

She reached out and pressed the button for the elevator. Bobby looked at her gratefully as the elevator doors opened.

"Thanks," he said. Then he stepped inside and turned around. He pressed the button for the parking garage and gave her one last grateful smile as the doors softly slid closed.


	19. Chapter 19

_As always, I thank my betas, TCIF and ciaddict for all their advice, encouragement and love. I must also that VDOBessed for bouncing ideas around with me. Thank you, my readers, for your comments, feedback and words of encouragement. tuda....._

**Chapter 19**

"He did what," Amy howled. She was sitting at Trey's kitchen table, listening to Bobby recount to her and Trey about his day with Hudson. She had nearly doubled over with laughter as Bobby described the scene in Captain Ross's office after Hudson spilled the coffee, but hearing about the toilet paper strewn about in the men's room nearly did her in.

Trey was chuckling, too, but not nearly as hard as his mother. She seemed to be deriving some evil pleasure out of Bobby's misery. He deftly reached over and moved her wine glass out of the way; the last thing he needed was for her to spill wine all over her cream silk shirt.

"Then Logan, he's another detective in the department, walked in and saw the mess. Scared Hudson, too, since Mike is nearly as tall as me." Bobby paused for a sip of wine before he continued. "Anyway, Hudson clung to my legs, but I was able to convince him that he needed to clean up his mess before we left. He'd had so much fun cleaning up with the Captain by making balls out of paper that he asked Logan to make him a ball out of the toilet paper."

Bobby paused to smile and chuckle before he continued. "Logan made the biggest wad of toilet paper I had ever seen and gave it to Hudson. You should have seen him. There he was, arms out with this big wad of toilet paper, carefully going over to the trash can. Then, slam! He raised his arms over his head and dunked it like Nate Robinson."

Bobby gestured as he spoke, bringing the scene to life, and smiled as he copied Hudson's actions.

"Of course, Logan and I had to raise our arms and say, 'Yay!' too."

Amy and Trey smiled and laughed with Bobby. They continued to sip wine and enjoy Bobby's retelling of the day. The mood turned somber when Bobby told them about 'losing' Hudson. They shared his frustration and ultimate relief.

When Trey told Bobby that Hudson had scared him, too, by wandering off and falling asleep in unusual places around all three homes, Bobby felt somewhat better.

"He's quite a kid, isn't he," Trey asked. "I knew he liked to take things and give them to someone else, but I hadn't thought of it as "stealth mode" until you used that term." He smiled and chuckled before he continued, "I'll have to tell Laura…"

An awkward silence fell over the room as the three realized what Trey had just said. After an uncomfortable silence, in which Trey and Amy had both turned their eyes away from each other, Bobby cleared his throat.

"I'm sure she would have liked that, too," he said softly.

He looked at his watch, then stood. "I need to go. It's late and I have a lot to do tomorrow." He didn't, really, but had somehow sensed that it would be better if he left.

Trey stood and picked up the empty wine glasses. He carried them to the sink while Bobby and Amy said their goodbyes. He deliberately dallied over rinsing them out, then surreptitiously glanced over his shoulder.

Amy and Bobby were standing close to each other. He had heard their murmured voices and didn't want to interrupt them, but was curious as to their current relationship. He was aware of the tension between them and was pleasantly surprised at how easy they seemed around each other tonight. He knew they had gone out recently; his mother's glowing face and the singing coming through the intercom from her kitchen the next morning had confirmed that the evening had gone well. He just wasn't sure where things stood.

Finally, he realized that they were looking bemused at him and that he had been staring at them.

"Oh," he said, embarrassed at having been caught. "I'm sorry." He turned back to the sink as Bobby and Amy burst into laughter.

"It's okay," Amy said, moving to hug Trey from behind. She leaned around him and gave him a teasing look as she smiled and said, "We're not going to kiss in front of you, if that's what you're concerned about!"

"Mo—om," Trey exclaimed. He blushed furiously now, his face burning brightly as he became overly intent on super cleaning the wine glass he was holding. "It's just….I…uh….Oh, hell!"

He turned to face them. "I'm just not sure what's going on between you two and how I'm supposed to react."

"Well," Bobby said, putting his hands in his pocket and staring at the floor. He rubbed the toe of his shoe back and forth and cleared his throat. When he finally spoke, he lifted his head and looked directly at Trey.

"Son, I like your mother very much. I still have feelings for her. She still has feelings for me, and, well, we…uh….we're…." he was suddenly at a loss. What exactly _were_ they doing?

Amy moved to stand next to Bobby. "We're exploring those feelings," she stated simply.

"Now, didn't you say you needed to be going," she asked Bobby.

"Uh, yes…yes, I did," Bobby responded, taking the hint. "Goodnight, Trey."

"Goodnight, Bobby."

Amy walked Bobby to the front door of Trey's house. She reached out and put her hand in his as they walked down long hallway. Once to the front door, Amy turned and faced Bobby. Holding hands had sent a tingle up her arm, and she wasn't sure, but thought she had felt Bobby react slightly to her touch.

She drew herself up to her full height and looked him in the eye. When barefooted, she came up just to his mouth; in her heels, they were almost eye to eye.

Bobby wondered what she was thinking as she stood there in front of him like that. Usually, he could read people like a book, but right now, with Amy so close to him, her hand in his, her gaze meeting his, he could hardly think straight, let alone read her. He'd never felt like this before; not with her, not with any other woman, for that matter. It discomfited him somewhat, and he found himself unable to speak.

Amy could sense his discomfort and quietly reveled in it. He'd had her turned upside down since that day in the squad room when she'd nearly clobbered him with her purse. It was about time he started to feel the same way. She took a half-step closer to him and reached out to grasp his other hand in hers.

Bobby looked slightly down as she did, and when his gaze returned to hers, his eyes were dark and unreadable.

"I really should go," he breathed softly, his gaze unwavering from hers.

"I know," she whispered back.

"It's been a long day," he said next.

"Mm-hmm," Amy said with a small nod.

She raised up onto her toes to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. Somehow, he anticipated this, and turned his head slightly, catching her lips with his, pressing into them softly.

She leaned in slightly, then pulled her head back and slowly lowered herself, staring at him in wonder.

Before her heels could touch the floor, Bobby's hands were on either side of her head, pulling her back up as he lowered his mouth for another kiss. Their eyes closed, their lips parted, their tongues danced. Their world faded away. It was only them, tasting, feeling, sensing.

Bobby's hands slid down her arms to hold her up as floor rolled beneath her feet and her knees began to give way. He pulled her against him, winding his hand into her hair and holding her head as he continued to plunder her mouth. He groaned as she allowed him in even deeper; he rejoiced in her moaned response. He delighted in the feel of her arms as they wrapped around him.

Neither one noticed when Trey came out of the kitchen and turned down the hall towards the stairs. He paused momentarily and watched them, wrapped up in each other, unaware of their silent observer. He quietly went upstairs and into his room. He crossed to the dresser and picked up the photo of Laura and Hudson in the park. This time when he looked at it, there was no sadness, only gratefulness, as he kissed her smiling image. _Maybe something good will come out of this after all_, he thought.

* * *

Several days later, Amy was at her desk, updating her calendar, when she noticed a square circled in red numerous times and filled with stars and exclamation points. Bobby's birthday.

"Oh, hell," she thought. "I forgot Bobby's birthday."

She studied the calendar further and realized that the date had fallen during all the hassle and mess of the hearing. Now it was already past Labor Day. Would Bobby think badly of her if she insisted on still honoring his birthday? She remembered sending him a huge care package for his birthday back in 1983. She had filled it with cards from her and her folks, homemade cookies and several books he had wanted to read. She filled it with colorful confetti to pad it all. He had seemed embarrassed by the attention and uncomfortable when she called and sang a raucous "Happy Birthday" with several of her friends. Would he even want to her acknowledge she had let it slip? And then there was his request that Marilyn Monroe serenade him. She had agreed and felt obligated to fulfill that for him.

Tomorrow was Friday. Maybe a weekend at the winery, she mused.

She picked up the phone and called her mom first. She discovered her parents were quickly getting things caught up at the winery. The fall harvest was on schedule and things were running smoothly in the warehouse. They were planning on coming back to Manhattan the next day.

Amy asked her if the house was set up for her to be there for the weekend. She explained that she had been wanting to take Bobby up there ever since he expressed an interest in seeing the winery and learning about that part of the business. Her mother assured her that the house was open and aired out. They would have the housekeeper give it a thorough cleaning on Friday. The two ladies went over kitchen inventory and Amy made a list.

Next, she called Bobby. He tried to make light of her oversight, but she would hear nothing of it. She insisted that he allow her to take him up to Utica.

"You've been wanting to see the winery, and I'd love to share the excitement of the fall harvest with you," she said. "And besides, someone wants to sing "Happy Birthday" to you," she teased huskily, slipping into her "Marilyn" voice.

He relented, and they made plans to meet at his place at noon tomorrow. Amy told him what the weather would be like, and encouraged him to pack for comfort. They would be busy working in the fields part of the time, but would also be having some relaxing time to themselves.

Satisfied with the arrangements, Amy returned eagerly to her work and the rest of her day flew by.

Bobby hung up the phone and sighed. He had been avoiding Amy ever since that goodbye kiss at her home Tuesday night. He was still struggling with the feelings she had elicited from him. Oh, he'd felt the surge of passion and physical desire with other women, but this was different. It seemed his very soul was stretching out towards her, yearning for more than a mere physical encounter.

She was right in his desire to see the winery and learn what goes on there. He was always eager to learn, and the reading he had done on the winery would come to life for him. However, the thought of being near her terrified him. He was afraid he would lose control and hurt her again. He'd lost her once; he wasn't about to lose her again.

He wasn't sure why he did it, but he picked up his cell phone and called Eames. She'd always had his back on other issues and was usually on target when it came to matters of the heart during their investigations. Maybe she could give him some insight to his feelings and advice on what to do.

Eames was startled to see Bobby's name appear on her ringing cell phone. They hadn't spoken since Tuesday night, when she called to share the news that the Stoneburgh case had been broken and they had finally arrested the right people. She took a deep breath and hesitantly answered the phone.

"Uh, hey, Eames, it's me, Bobby," he said uncertainly after she answered. "Have you, uh…have you got a minute?"

There was something in his tone of voice that caused Alex to respond in the positive.

"Sure, Bobby; what's wrong?"

"Oh, uh, nothing's wrong. I just need to ask you a question. Amy's invited me to go up to the winery for the weekend, and I'm not sure I should go."

Well, this was certainly not what she was expecting. Alex thought quickly, and when she answered, it was in measured tones and carefully chosen language.

"Is there some reason why you shouldn't other than any feelings you may have for her?" She hoped she was on the right track with her question, but didn't want to push him away. The silence on the other end was telling.

"I see," she said softly after a few quiet moments had passed. She smiled to herself. The great Bobby Goren needs advice from me, she thought.

"Did she say why she wants you to go up there with her?" Eames still wasn't sure she trusted Amy with her partner yet. He had been deeply hurt to discover he'd had a son living under his nose for the past twenty-five years. She didn't want to see him that hurt by Amy again.

"She wants to show me the winery. I've been asking questions and reading about it; she thought I'd enjoy getting away and seeing what goes on up there," he answered softly. He was hesitant to tell her more.

Alex sensed his hesitation and could tell he had more to say, so she took a chance and asked him if there was more to it than just seeing the winery.

"Yeah, she wants to make up for forgetting my birthday."

"Oh." This was unexpected and it caught Alex off guard. "Well, that sounds like fun. I think you should go. You could use some time away from here."

"The fresh air will do me good," Bobby joked.

"Yeah, something like that," Alex laughed. "Go, Bobby. You'll always wonder if you don't."

She was right; he would wonder and it would eat him up.

"Okay, I'll go. If you need me for anything-"

Alex cut him off before he could finish. "No way. Nothing's going to happen here that the rest of us can't handle. Besides, you're still on leave and supposed to be using up all those vacation days, so go! Get out of here!"

Bobby was quiet for a moment then he answered her, so softly she almost missed it. "Thanks….Alex."

* * *

Amy paced her bedroom nervously the next morning. She had plenty of work clothes up at the winery, as well as a few dresses and outfits appropriate for showings and tastings, but nothing special enough to celebrate Bobby's birthday in. She didn't want to be too dressed up, but also didn't want to be grungy from picking grapes, either.

She moved into her closet and began to flip through her dresses. Her eyes landed on one particular dress; the purple one she had worn the night that Bobby and Trey went out to dinner. Bobby's eyes had popped out of his head and his jaw had nearly hit the floor. She had pretended not to notice, but his reaction had stayed with her. Yes, this dress would be appropriate. She quickly put together the outfit and packed it along with everything else. She made one last trip around her room before she finally declared herself ready to go.

She grabbed her bag and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Earlier that morning, she had gone out and picked up a few of the items from the store that were on her list. The rest could wait until they got to Utica; there was a nice grocery store on the highway going out towards the winery. She could call ahead and Mr. Preston would have her order ready when they arrived. She double-checked the bag of groceries and the list, pulling a few more items out of the cabinet. Then she carried everything to the front door.

The car was already out on the street in front of the house. Trey had gone over to the parking garage and gotten it for her. Since she didn't use it all the time, he had checked the fluids and the tire pressure and filled up the tank. He had been glad to help her out and gave her a big hug and told her to have a great weekend. He was planning on packing up Hudson and Christy and spending the latter half of the next week up there tending to the rest of the fall harvest himself and asked her for a full report when she got back.

She was thinking about all these things and more as she pulled the car away from the curb and began to circle the block. She had just turned onto 5th Avenue, heading south towards Brooklyn, when she suddenly remembered she had forgotten her Marilyn Monroe costume. She huffed noisily as she turned around and headed back to the house. A quick dash upstairs to the closet to grab the bag she had packed the night before, and she was on her way again.

Bobby was pacing his apartment. He was pretty much packed, but was still uncertain he should be going away with Amy for the weekend just yet. His desire to see the winery was his main reason for going.

There was an open pizza box on the counter and he grabbed another slice as he paced through the kitchen again. He carried it back into the bedroom with him and stared at his open bag once more.

She had said to pack for working and for celebrating his birthday. He had quickly thrown some clothes and toiletries into a bag, and decided he'd double check with Amy when she arrived.

He sat on the bed and ate the slice of pizza. His mind wandered back over all that had happened to him in the last 3 months since Amy had re-entered his life and turned his world upside down. His feelings were all over the map when it came to her. He wanted her, he knew that much for certain, but this time it was more than just physical. That part was still there; the kisses they had shared had more than confirmed that and the one at Trey's front door on Tuesday shook him to the core and knocked him back on his heels. No, this time he needed more. He needed all of her, but would she be able to handle all of him?

A sharp buzzing sound shook him out of his reverie. He tossed the pizza crust in the trash on his way to the front door.

"Who is it," he spoke into the intercom.

"It's Amy."

He blinked hard as his stomach began to knot and fill up with butterflies at the same time. His pulse began to race as he told her to come on up, gave her the number of his apartment, and pressed the button to unlock the door.

She was here.

Nervously, he fidgeted with the locks on his door and discovered his palms were sweaty. He wiped them down his legs and grimaced.

"Get a hold of yourself, Bobby," he whispered out loud. "For God's sake, you're not 16, you're a grown man!"

He paced back and forth and nervously balled and unballed his hands as he waited for her to knock on his door.

Even though he knew it was coming, the sound of her knocking still caused him to jump. A nervous laugh escaped from his mouth and he rubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath before he opened the door.

There she was. She had on minimal makeup, a soft pink t-shirt under an unbuttoned long-sleeved light-weight powder blue denim shirt, blue jeans that fit her just loose of perfect, and pink Skechers. She took his breath away.

"Hi," he said softly when he found his voice.

"Hi yourself," she answered with a smile.

"Am I dressed okay? I've never been to a winery before," he asked, stepping back to allow her to appraise his outfit.

She took in his black t-shirt, dark denim jeans, boots, and tousled curls. Oh, yeah, she said to herself, struggling to keep her expression neutral.

"That's perfect! We're pretty laid back and casual up there," she answered as she moved passed him and into the apartment. "You all packed?"

"Almost. I just need to finish grabbing a few things and then we can go. You hungry? There's pizza in the kitchen," he called over his shoulder as he made his way down the short hall and into the safety of his bedroom.

At the mention of pizza, her stomach growled, so she went into the kitchen and grabbed a slice. She moved back into the living room as she ate. The overflowing bookshelves caught her eye, and she smiled as she took in the eclectic mix of titles and the apparent lack of organization; she wasn't fooled though, she knew if she asked him, Bobby could go right to any book and pull it off the shelf. She noticed the picture of the two little boys and immediately recognized him. He had mentioned a brother at one time; maybe he was the other boy in the picture. She smiled as she spotted the pictures of him with Hudson that Trey had given him.

"What can I do to help," she called to him.

"Pull my jacket out of the closet, please," he called back.

She opened the door to the small closet near the front door and paused. Slowly, she reached out her hand and touched an old, brown leather jacket. She held her breath as she ran her hand down the smooth, worn leather of one of the sleeves. Gently, she took it off the hanger and pulled it out of the closet. She studied it carefully and wondered.

Laying it gently over the back of the sofa, she looked inside at the lining. There it was. The special tag she had carefully hand-sewn onto the lining before she gave it to him for his twenty-second birthday. Tears filled her eyes as she ran her finger over the tag and realized that he had lovingly cared for this jacket all this time.

On impulse, she slipped the jacket on and wrapped herself up in it. She deeply inhaled the scent of the leather and hugged her arms tightly around her. It moved her deeply that he still had the jacket after all this time. It was obvious that he wore it regularly, as the scent of his cologne was mingled with the scent of saddle soap.

She was still standing there, wrapped in his jacket and lost in her memories, when Bobby came out with his bag. He watched her silently then cleared his throat to get her attention.

When she turned to face him he was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

"You still have it," she murmured softly. "I can't believe it. After all these years."

"I was wearing it the night we went to the Jim Brickman concert," Bobby commented as he took his bag to the door. He set them down and turned to face her.

"Really? I guess I wasn't paying very much attention to what you were wearing," Amy said, her eyebrows raised and eyes dancing.

"I guess you want this back, huh?"

"Not right now. You can wear it. It looks good on you."

"I'm pleased you like it so much. It's obvious you've taken good care of it all this time." She moved to join him at the door.

Bobby reached out his hand and pushed her hair back behind her head. He softly kissed her forehead.

"What was that for," Amy asked.

"I've never gotten to thank you properly for the jacket. My thank you note seemed so insufficient."

"It was very sweet," Amy told him with a smile. "And perfect. Besides, seeing you still have it after all this time is more than thanks enough. Come on, we have a long drive ahead of us."

Bobby grabbed his bag and followed Amy out the door and down to the parking lot.

An hour down the highway, and Bobby was in heaven. When they had gotten down to the parking lot, he had been surprised to see a red convertible sports car waiting for them. He had been stunned when Amy revealed to him that it was the same red sports car that he had rented for their mountain picnic in Germany twenty-five years ago. Her grandfather had surprised her by giving it to her for her college graduation. Now, as they cruised through the countryside towards Utica, Bobby was at the wheel and loving life.

Amy had installed satellite radio in the car, and they were listening to a 70's music station and singing along from time to time, as well as chatting. They had started playing the favorites game and had gone through television shows and books. It was Amy's turn to pick the next favorites they would share.

"Movies," she said.

"Okay, that's easy," Bobby said. "Star Wars, the first one; the one that came out in 1976."

"Really," Amy asked in disbelief. "Of all the movies, especially the old classics, why Star Wars?"

"Besides the fact that it was the first science fiction movie of its kind," Bobby answered her question with one of his own. "Well, I was a fan of Star Trek, I was heavy into reading science fiction; Heinlein was one of my favorite authors, and this movie was something new and different. Lewis and I stood in line outside the theatre for 5 hours waiting to get in the weekend it opened. We were both 13. Princess Leia became our adolescent fantasy and we would spend hours fighting Darth Vader and his storm troopers with homemade light sabers." Bobby chuckled at the memory.

"I thought Lewis's mom was going to kill us the day we brought our battle for the Jedi way of life into the house and nearly wrecked the living room."

Now he was smiling, relaxed and happy, and Amy felt her heart turn over in her chest at the sight. She swallowed hard and thought about how she would answer the question.

"Well, my favorite is "The Wizard of Oz."

Bobby shot her a look out of the side of his eyes.

"I know, I know," she said defensively. "But I can't help it. I just love the whole story line. I've read all of Frank Baum's books several times each, and the way the movie was crafted is just wonderful. I've always loved watching the movie every time it comes on TV. I remember the whole family gathering together to watch it as I was growing up, and when I was in college, we'd all gather in the TV lounge of my dorm and watch. A huge group of us, girls and guys, watching, laughing, singing along, hollering at the TV…." She sighed.

"Are you happy," Bobby asked her softly.

She wasn't expecting the question and fell silent, turning to look out the window at the passing scenery.

"Amy," Bobby prodded.

"I'm satisfied," she stated. She shifted in the seat, turning now to look directly at him. "Satisfied. Does that work?"

"It's an interesting answer," he responded.

"Are you happy?" She turned the question on him.

Bobby fell silent. It was a question he had been asking himself for some time and he still didn't know the answer.

Amy read volumes into the silence. Her heart ached for him; she found herself longing to make him happy. Would he let her? Wanting, needing to get away from the dark turn the conversation was taking, she reached out and changed the radio to the 80's station. Van Halen's "Jump" came blasting through the speakers and soon they were both singing along. The mood lightened and the moment passed.


	20. Chapter 20

_Big thanks to TCIF and ciaddict! Not just for their beta'ing, but for the late nights chatting up ideas on facebook. You gals rock! tuda...._

**Chapter 20**

When they arrived at Mr. Peterson's store, just outside Utica, Amy was more than ready to get out and stretch her legs. Bobby laughed at her as she jumped out of the car and hurried inside; she'd been fidgety the last several miles and he knew she desperately needed to go to the bathroom. He stretched as he stood next to the car then made his way inside the store.

It was a typical country store in many ways, with shelves laden with basic necessities standing next to shelves full of homemade products from local residents. There was everything from snacks and candy to beer and wine, including a large display full of Wainwright vineyard selections at the front of the store.

As Bobby made his way further back through the store, the selection changed to dry goods, hardware and even lawn and garden items. There was a pet care selection, a rack of magazines and books, a wide selection of videos for rent and even an area filled with arts and crafts items made by local artisans.

He saw Amy emerge from the restroom in the back corner and headed in her direction.

"You okay," he asked her with a smile.

"Yeah," she chuckled sheepishly. "So, what do you think of this place? Peterson's Grocery is a historic landmark in Utica."

"Oh?"

"Mr. Peterson's father and grandfather opened this store 80 years ago. This Mr. Peterson has been in charge for the last thirty years. Come on, I want to introduce you." Amy put her arm through Bobby's and practically dragged him back to the front of the store.

The diminutive, gray-haired Mr. Peterson was thrilled to see Amy and gave her a huge hug in greeting. He pumped Bobby's arm in a hearty handshake, then pointed to several boxes sitting off to the side.

"Just what you ordered," he said with a smile.

Amy thanked him and paid for her purchases. Then Mr. Peterson surprised her. He bent down behind the counter and pulled out two cases of Dr Pepper.

Amy squealed in delight. "Mr. Peterson! Did you order those just for me?"

The man nodded and Amy thanked him profusely. She noticed the confused expression on Bobby's face and said, "Very few places up north carry Dr Pepper. It's a regional taste, and one I absolutely fell in love with when we lived at Ft. Hood in Texas. I've been to Waco to see the bottling plant, the museum, everything."

She realized she was babbling excitedly and blushed. Bobby laughed softly and took the cases from Mr. Peterson.

"Shall I put these in the car for you while you and Mr. Peterson bring the boxes?"

Amy nodded gratefully, picked up one of the boxes and walked out to the car.

Soon they were on their way again, Amy insisting on driving so that Bobby could take in the scenery. She kept up a steady conversation about the history of the buildings, the land and the area. She also told Bobby more of the details about the history of the winery and her grandfather's desire to start it.

They rounded a curve in the highway and the scenery changed dramatically. The dense trees suddenly gave way to acres and acres of vineyard, softly rising and falling with the gently rolling hills. His eye took in the neat rows and the way the grapes seemed to sparkle and glow in the late afternoon sun.

He realized Amy had quit talking and turned to look at her. She, too, was staring out over the fields, smiling in awe.

"It never fails to take my breath away, coming out here this time of day. I think this is the best light and I wanted your first glimpse of the vineyards to be my favorite. There's just something about the sunlight at this time of day that makes everything look magical.

Bobby thought it made Amy look magical, too. She seemed to sparkle and glow in the soft afternoon light as well, and Bobby noticed that she looked more relaxed than he had seen her in quite a while. She caught his eye and smiled at him, then she pointed.

Bobby turned just in time to see the buildings of the winery come into view. Strong in appearance, they were more modern looking than he was expecting.

"We've rebuilt and modernized in the last several years. The earlier buildings became too small. One we turned into a guest center with a gift shop and tasting room; the rest were absorbed by the new buildings as we enlarged around them. The house is unchanged though," she said as she turned off the highway and onto a smaller asphalt road.

He saw the winery's guest center to his left, and the processing plant and giant warehouse to the right. There was a parking lot for visitors next to the guest center, followed by a small plot of land that had several small rows of grape vines growing on it. Amy explained that visitors always want to go out into the fields and see the grapes for themselves, touch them, smell them and even pick them. This way, they could get up close and personal without causing any harm to larger crops. The hands-on area was a favorite of school children, who came out regularly to learn about farming, fermentation and distribution.

"We don't serve them wine, but we do serve them a mean grape juice," Amy told him. "We're even thinking about marketing it under the name "Hudson's Harvest Grape Juice. Everything we do here meets organic, sustainable growing standards; we're one of the few vineyards in the states that have made the effort to comply, and it's starting to pay off tremendously."

Bobby was starting to wonder where the house was, when Amy pointed across him, directing him to look out to his right. He noticed several good-sized cabin-like structures and Amy explained that these were the homes the seasonal workers used during the spring and fall harvests. There were several men and women working around the cabins, and Bobby assumed they were getting them ready for the workers.

They passed a short street lined with modest homes that Amy said were occupied year-round by families who lived on the property and took care of the vineyards full time. Some worked in the processing and fermentation plants and several were in the distribution end, overseeing the truckers and delivery personnel that regularly came and went. There were also two families that ran the guest services center; giving tours, running the gift shop and coordinating and directing the educational programs the winery offered to schools and visitors.

"Quite an operation you have here," Bobby said. He was very impressed with the set up and layout and all that Amy and her grandfather had accomplished.

They began making a wide, sweeping turn, and that's when Bobby noticed the main house. It was a sprawling two-story affair, with a breathtaking view of the vineyards and winery in the front and the incredible scenery of the hills and countryside in the back. There was something very simple and humble about it. It was not full of grandeur and pretension, yet there was no mistaking that this was the main house.

Amy pulled up into the grand circle drive and parked the car near the door.

"Well, what do you think," she asked as she got out.

"Very nice," Bobby said as he stood next to the car and looked around.

"But…" Amy encouraged.

"But this is not at all what I was expecting."

Amy laughed with understanding. "Yeah. Most people think of some huge Napa-like mansion, not this old thing."

"How big is it," Bobby asked.

"Large enough for all of us."

"All of us?"

"Grandpa had two sisters, who married and had four kids a piece. I have five aunts and three uncles, and twenty-four cousins, and all of the cousins have families, too. We can't all live out here at once, but can all gather for a day. We usually fill up several motels in town once or twice a year and have a reunion up here. Get back in and we'll go park."

They drove around to the back of the house and pulled into a garage. There they met Louis, one of the vineyard managers, who greeted them warmly and helped unload the car. He offered to take their bags up to their rooms while Amy gave Bobby a tour of the house. She showed him all the nooks and crannies, embellished with stories of her childhood. She ended the tour in a spacious room on the second floor.

The room had a king-sized bed facing large French doors and windows that opened up to a large balcony overlooking the countryside. Bobby walked out onto the balcony and discovered that all the rooms on that side of the house opened up onto the balcony, which was the roof of the large covered patio below. He looked out over the pool and the large yard, noticing the swings and slides and a giant wooden fortress, a sizeable plot of dirt that was full of fall vegetables and flowers then gazed out past the fence to the rolling hills and azure sky beyond.

Amy joined him and they stood quietly together at the low concrete wall that composed the railing of the balcony area.

"This is spectacular," Bobby said softly.

"I thought you'd appreciate this room and this view. It was my grandparents' room. He strategically placed the house so that he could see all the incredible views of this area. Every window opens up onto something wonderful to see."

Bobby turned to face her. "Thank you for bringing me up here," his low voice told her.

"Don't thank me just yet," she grinned. "We have a lot of work to do this weekend. The fall harvest starts next week and I have to check the vineyards and the processing areas. It's my job to check every square inch before the first grapes hit the conveyor belts in the washing area. Are you prepared to work hard?"

"If you need me to," Bobby told her. "I thought we came up here to relax."

"For me, this is relaxing. I love it up here; getting my hands dirty, feeling the grapes to check their ripeness, smelling the fresh air and the dirt and the plants." She breathed deeply and sighed.

"It's like therapy. I used to run away from all the mess back in Manhattan and escape up here, where I could really be a part of the winery, not just the pretty face putting on the parties and pouring the wine and hoping someone liked it enough to put it in their store or their restaurant. I fell in love with this part of the business; it's like my first love, hate it sometimes, but if I'm gone too long, I can't wait to get back here and hug it close again."

She turned around suddenly, grabbing Bobby's hand and pulling him along behind her. "Come on. I want to show you something."

She led him across the hall and into another spacious bedroom. It was obvious from the furnishings and decorations that this room was more feminine, and his suspicion that it was hers was confirmed when he spotted her bags lying across the large ornate bed.

She let go of his hand and continued across the room, throwing open the French doors and stepping out onto another balcony. This one was not as grand as the one outside his room, but the view more than made up for it. The balcony on this side of the house overlooked the circle drive and afforded a sweeping view of the vineyards.

Bobby followed her out onto the balcony and joined Amy at the railing. Again, they stood silently and looked out over the vineyards.

It was Bobby who broke the silence.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She turned to look at him, a small smile on her face. "You're welcome. Starting to relax yet?"

"I'm getting there."

"C'mon. Let's get unpacked and head down to the kitchen. I'm starved," Amy said. She went back inside and started unpacking.

Bobby went back across the hall and unpacked his bag. Neither one had brought much, and soon they were headed downstairs to the kitchen, where they unpacked the groceries Mr. Peterson had packed for them.

Neither one had seen the old, ratty Plymouth that had followed them and parked at the Visitor's Center. The man behind the wheel had gone to great effort not to be noticed as he followed them out of the city, through the country and all the way north. He'd nearly had a heart attack when they'd suddenly pulled off the highway at that old country store. He just knew he'd been spotted when he walked right past them as they loaded groceries into their red convertible. It was with great relief that he discovered he had been totally ignored. Not wanting to appear rude, he had dallied in the store, allowing Bobby and Amy to get back on the road, before buying a soda and a pack of cigarettes from the man behind the counter.

Now he was sitting in the parking lot of the winery, taking it all in, and trying not to do anything rash. He forced himself to stay calm as he pretended to be an out of state guest. He slowly got out of the car, looked around, stretched. He went right up to the door of the Visitor's Center and read the sign with the center's hours posted on it. He pressed his face up to the glass, as if hoping someone would still be there and come to the door. He returned to his car, a look of uncertainty and desperation on his face. One of the men working in the flowerbeds across the street hollered out to him, then came over and answered his few, 'tourist-sounding' questions; he thanked the man and left, certain now that Bobby and Amy would be there for the whole weekend. He drove all the way back to New York that night, a carefree feeling in his soul for the first time in a while as he planned his next move.

Later, Bobby and Amy sat outside on the large back porch, sipping wine and watching the sun set. They had eaten well; Amy had ordered some steaks from Mr. Peterson, planning to cook them on Saturday as a surprise birthday dinner for Bobby, followed by the serenade from "Marilyn" that he had requested. Instead, she had let Bobby cook them and the results were fabulous: Bobby Goren was a whiz with a grill.

Amy had tossed a salad and sautéed some fresh vegetables, and they had taken advantage of the gorgeous afternoon by eating outside.

Their conversation had been free and easy; teasing at times, serious at others, and had covered a wide-range of topics. Bobby had noticed all the scrapbooks in the living room, one for each year of the winery, and had teased her about having to scrapbook every minute. She had laughed and tried to defend herself by explaining that the winery's scrapbooks were as much of importance to the business success of the winery, but kept digging herself deeper and deeper. He stopped just short of hurting her feelings and instead surprised her with his next question.

"So," he said, draining the last of the wine from his glass. "When do I get to see my scrapbook?"

Amy choked on her wine and sputtered, then reached frantically for her napkin.

"Wha – what do you mean?"

Bobby waited to make sure she was okay before answering her question. "Trey told me in the interrogation room that he knew about me because you had made a scrapbook about me."

He watched her blush and waited for her answer.

She sat and stared out into the dim light of evening. She didn't know how to respond.

"Amy?"

"You…you're not mad?"

"Why should I be?"

"Well, I've been keeping up with you; following your career; documenting it. And all this time you didn't know. I'd be mad."

"What good is getting mad going to do?"

"Make you feel better?" She stood and began piling up their dirty dishes to take inside.

Bobby rose and grabbed their glasses, the empty wine bottle and the soiled table linens.

She kept talking as she led him inside; babbling really, about how the book wasn't much, just pictures from when they were dating, and items from the newspaper. She explained how her dad had told her he was at the Police Academy and then in Narcotics, so she saved an article on every major drug bust, hoping he'd been one of the unnamed officers mentioned in the articles. Once he had joined the MCS, it had been easier to follow his career.

She had nervously babbled on and on about finding the articles, and how hard it had been to keep it a secret from her family. She wasn't sure why she went on like that, except that his quiet nearness was unnerving her, especially as he had stood next to her at the sink and they had cleaned, dried and put away all the dishes and the leftover food. She was starting to scrub the countertops, still talking a mile a minute, when he finally grabbed her hand and stopped her.

"I'm not mad at you," he said gently.

She kept her face averted; he reached out and ran his long finger across her jaw line, turning her head to look at him.

She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, and that's when it suddenly hit him: she was nervous; nervous, and, if he wasn't mistaken, a little bit frightened, judging by her skittish behavior. He'd never made a woman nervous before; usually they were confident in their sexuality and came on to him. It occurred to him that most of the women he'd been with knew it wasn't permanent, that they were merely diversions or simply outlets for the stress, anger and loneliness that came with his job. Amy was nervous about their physical closeness and looked like she'd run away from him forever if he pushed her too hard right now.

He wasn't sure why, but he suddenly felt protective. He wanted her to feel safe and secure with him, not scared and nervous.

"I'm not mad at you," he said again, slightly stronger. He took the wash cloth from her hand and finished wiping the counter while she stood numbly and watched.

"Are you okay," he asked her after he tossed the rag back into the sink.

Amy nodded, then ran out of the kitchen. Bobby followed a few minutes later, sensing she needed some time to herself.

When he entered the great room, she was nowhere to be found. He stood still and listened, his mind going back over the tour she had given him earlier. She hadn't gone upstairs; he heard no movement overhead. The study; she had proudly shown him the cozy office, and he judged from its appearance that it was one of her favorite rooms in the house. He headed in that direction.

She was in there all right; he could hear muffled sobs and the sounds of mail being sorted, opened, discarded. He took a deep breath before stepping into the open doorway and knocking softly on the door.

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes before turning her attention back to the large pile of mail covering the top her desk.

He said nothing, but moved to sit on the small sofa under the window opposite her desk. He watched her as she sniffed, blew her nose, opened another letter. She scanned, sorted, trashed some, saved others. The stack was quite large; it appeared very little was opened by anyone else.

"Do you open all the mail around here," he finally asked.

"Hmm?" She looked up at him. "Oh, no. This is just normal for the last several days. Since I was coming up here, Louis saved it all for me." She gave him a rueful smile.

"I'm sorry I ran out like that," she apologized. "I…I just…" she let her words trail off and blinked hard, fighting back more tears.

"I should leave you alone," Bobby said, starting to rise from the couch.

"Please don't," Amy stopped him. "Here, help me. Please?"

Bobby grabbed the stack of mail Amy handed him and settled back into the couch. She explained her sorting system to him, and he got to work. Catalogs, bills, distribution invoices, he sorted the piles. Some was obvious junk mail, some not so obvious. Bobby opened one, a plain white envelope with Amy's name and address typed on it. There was no return address label, so he opened it; he tore off one end, blew into it, then laughed as he realized he had acted just like he would have in the squad room with a suspicious letter.

His laughter died in his throat when he opened the paper. He looked up at Amy, his face pale.

"What," she asked.

"Amy." Her name sounded choked in his throat.

She noticed the paper, the envelope, his pale face, and hers went ashen as well. She began to shake as she realized what he was looking at. She had gotten another letter, only this time, she wasn't able to hide it.

He noticed her face, her shaking, her eyes.

"You want to tell me how long this has been going on?"


	21. Chapter 21

_Thanks to everyone for waiting for over a month for this next chapter. So sorry it took so long. When we last left Bobby and Amy, they were up in Utica at the winery, and Bobby had just found out about the threatening letters. And so it begins, ladies.....thanks to ciaddict for her help, especially with the Mike Logan story line part; LOVE YOU!!!!! tuda!_

**Chapter 21**

It had been a long two weeks and Bobby was exhausted. He was also frustrated; nothing was happening fast enough to suit him and now he was sitting in Captain Ross's office with Eames and Amy because of it.

Amy had finally and hesitantly revealed to Bobby that night that she had gotten ten similar letters in the two months since Laura's murder. There were two more in her office at the winery and seven in her desk back in New York.

She had watched slightly amused as he had treated the letters and envelopes with kid gloves. She was amazed when he took several food storage bags, notebook paper and duct tape and turned them into very serviceable evidence bags. Each letter and envelope carefully went into a bag, was labeled and sealed. He even explained to her everything he was doing and why.

He had wanted to go back to the city that night. They argued about it. He wanted forensics to get started on processing the envelopes right away. She countered that there was nothing more he could do other than turn in the letters. She wanted him to stay with her, as planned. She still wanted to stay and get her work done and show him around the winery. They went back and forth and finally reached a compromise. Amy agreed to let Eames into her office to gather up all the other letters and tag them for evidence. Bobby agreed to stay for the rest of the weekend, knowing that Amy was correct that there wasn't anything more he could do.

Although distracted, Bobby enjoyed the rest of his weekend at the winery with Amy. He was impressed by the setup and her intimate knowledge of all things wine and grape. Together, they climbed over and inspected every barrel in the warehouse, walked many of the rows of plants in the fields, and saw to it that the machinery was ready for the fall harvest. Amy taught Bobby how to tell if a grape was ripe or needed more time simply by the smell and feel of the small orb. She showed him the entire fermentation process, even encouraging him to participate in bottling and laughing with him at his feeble attempts at sealing the bottles.

On Saturday night, Amy even made good on her promise. She carefully dressed herself as Marilyn Monroe and slowly descended the stairs, catching him off guard in the living room where he was sitting in a large leather recliner, going over his notes from the night before.

"Happy birthday, to you," she began to sing breathlessly as she crossed the room to him. "Happy Birthday, to you."

She tried not to laugh and stay in character, but as Bobby began to giggle, she did to, finally scolding him to stop so she could continue. When she was done, she planted a noisy kiss on his cheek and he clapped appreciatively as she curtsied in front of him.

"Wow! Thank you," Bobby said.

"Oh, you're quite welcome," Amy returned in her best Marilyn voice. "My dear, sweet friend Amy said you recently had a birthday, and were a big fan, so naturally, I just had to come and serenade you."

She was gushing and cooing and playing the part of Marilyn to the hilt, loving the look on Bobby's face as she did.

"You're wearing my favorite dress," Bobby said, indicating the white dress Amy had chosen. The dress was a replica of the one Marilyn famously wore in the movie "The Seven Year Itch", and suddenly Bobby was wishing they were in Manhattan and she was standing over a street grate.

"I'm glad you like it," Amy said, falling back into her regular voice. "Well, since I'm all dressed up," she paused and spun in a circle, showing off to the fullest, "is there any particular fantasy you've had that I could help bring to life?"

The sudden look in his eye said she could be in trouble for that comment, but he let it go, instead telling her that he had watched lots of Marilyn Monroe movies with his mom while he was growing up, and he always wanted to be the lucky guy who got to dance with her and have her on his arm.

"Hmmm, I think I can accommodate that," Amy said smartly. She moved to stand right in front of Bobby and extended her hand to him. "Come with me."

He rose and offered her his arm, just like in the movies. She put her arm through his and led him out onto the large back patio. She asked him to help her plug in the small white lights that adorned the trees, railings and rafters then turned on the stereo system in the outdoor kitchen to an adult contemporary station. They danced and swayed under the twinkling white lights to the soft music, Amy playing the part of Marilyn to the hilt, and Bobby feeling like a teen-aged boy living out a fantasy.

Back home on Monday, Bobby sat down with Eames and Ross to go over what little they knew. Eames had made copies of all the letters and envelopes, knowing Bobby would need to scrutinize them. Amy was able to provide very little information as to what the mysterious letter writer could possibly mean by saying the foundation would pay. Captain Ross decided that Goren and Eames would have full access to all evidence and forensics results but would not be allowed to do any of the legwork, to avoid any appearance of conflict of interest.

On Tuesday, Eames brought Amy and Trey into the Major Case Squad room. Bobby had commandeered one of the conference rooms. There were bulletin boards on easels placed around the room. Each letter had been blown up to twice its original size, and was carefully pinned to a board with four large push pins, one pin in each corner of the letter. The letters and envelopes were arranged in the order they had been mailed. There was a map of Manhattan on a final board. Bobby had placed three large red push pins on this map, and then carefully drawn circles around each one at a precise distance from each pin.

Amy was amazed as she watched and listened to Bobby. He was wearing a suit, but had carelessly thrown the jacket over the back of a chair. The sleeves of his crisp, white dress shirt were unbuttoned and pushed up, exposing his muscular forearms. His red tie was loosened at the neck, but still held in place by a shiny, silver tie clip. She was mesmerized by his hands as he gestured at each letter and envelope while carefully explaining that each letter had been postmarked from one of three post offices in Manhattan. Going by the dates on the post marks, the writer had mailed several letters at a time. There was nothing to indicate whether the letters were taken directly to the post offices, placed in a drop box or picked up from a residence or even a business, just that the letters had passed through those post offices.

There were similarities between all of the letters, and Bobby had painstakingly listed those. Every letter had been typewritten on the same typewriter, on the same paper. Analysis of the paper showed that it was any one of several inexpensive multipurpose papers widely available in numerous stores. The typewriter was a run-of-the-mill electric typewriter popular in the 80's; there were no distinguishing characteristics in the type, indicating that the machine was in excellent condition. None of the fingerprints lifted from the letters and envelopes raised any red flags; Amy and Trey would need to be fingerprinted so they could be ruled out, as well as everyone in their offices.

The writer was escalating, Bobby told them, judging by the tone of the letters and their content. He was using stronger and stronger language, and more frequent cursing. His anger towards Amy was intensifying. The writer was planning something more than just writing letters; he wanted to physically hurt the foundation.

Amy was shaking and felt like she would pass out by the time Bobby was finished. She sank down into the nearest chair and held her head in her hands. When she finally lifted it, Bobby was squatting down in front of her holding a bottle of water. Her ashen face concerned him as he encouraged her to drink.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded and took another sip of water.

"Thank you," she smiled feebly at him. "This is all just so much, and seeing it all like this, I….uh…." She fluttered a hand in the air.

Bobby grabbed the nearest chair and pulled it around so he could sit facing her. He took her hand in his and encouraged her to drink some more water.

"Amy, why didn't you tell anyone sooner? We could have had people on this, had someone watching the house, the office, you," he was frustrated, but tried to keep his voice calm and his emotions in check.

"I didn't think it was that big a deal."

"You didn't think it was that big a deal," his voice became harsh as he suddenly rose up from the chair. "What do you mean? Look at this," his voice rumbled through the conference room as he gestured angrily at the letters posted around the room.

"You're a bitch," he read loudly from one letter. "Your refusal to give money to minorities has got to stop," he read from another. He continued on the around the room in long, broad strides, reading loudly and getting more and more angry.

"Amy! Don't you get it," he roared out of frustration as he wheeled back around to face her. He had raised his arms in frustration, but upon seeing the look on her face, the way she was pulled back and cowering in her chair with Trey standing next to her, ready to pounce on him, he stopped. He lowered his arms, and rubbed his forehead with one hand.

"I, uh, I'm sorry," he said softly after a few moments. "I just….."

He began to pace around the room, rubbing his hand over his eyes.

"Amy, this is serious." Alex spoke up from where she was leaning against the door, her voice soft but firm. "I don't know what this person plans to do, but it's going to be bad. The last letter says you and your foundation have to pay for your actions. When phrases like that get thrown around, it's never good. You and your family and employees could be in danger of physical harm. What that harm could be, we have no idea, but you need protection. Captain Ross wants to work out a schedule…"

She stopped suddenly as Amy stood up.

"No," she said firmly. "Just…no! I, we will be fine. I've had threatening letters before and nothing bad has ever happened. Maybe some protesters outside an event, or party crashers trying to pass out flyers and chase off patrons, but nothing serious. You're reading way too much into this." She turned sharply on her heels and walked out of the conference room.

Trey turned to follow her, but Bobby stopped him with a firm hand on the young man's shoulder and a pleading expression on his face.

"I'll try to talk to her," Trey told him sympathetically. "You go ahead and set up the protective detail. Just make sure you're the one who's closest to her, or she'll really pitch a fit."

Bobby sighed as he watched Trey leave the conference room and go after Amy. He watched as Trey caught up to her at the elevator and pulled her back into the squad room. They had a heated conversation involving many glances in Bobby's direction from Amy and rapid gestures from Trey. Finally, Amy nodded. Trey turned and met Bobby's gaze and gave him a grim look and a firm nod. Without so much as a look back in his direction, Amy led Trey out of the squad room and onto the next elevator.

Amy was not impressed with having a security detail. Even with Bobby as her main protector, she protested, fussing at every turn and opportunity. She really didn't see what all the fuss was about, and besides, if someone was after her, wouldn't the presence of all those police officers prevent them from doing anything they could be arrested for?

Amy had a valid point, Bobby had to admit, but orders were orders and the Mayor had gotten on board with protecting the Wainwrights and their foundation. "The foundation's work is too important to the city and the people of New York," were the Mayor's exact words to Amy shortly after he found out about the threats. "I would be remiss as a mayor, were I not to insist on police protection for someone of your importance."

The lack of physical evidence on the letters was a huge frustration to Bobby. There was no progress made in trying to back track the letters to their origins. Everything was generic, and it was obvious that the author had worn gloves and gone to great lengths to not leave any trace of himself on the letters or the envelopes.

Bobby's frustration had grown over the last week, causing him to lash out at anyone and everyone. He lashed out at Eames for not returning his calls quickly enough; he lashed out at Amy for not being careful enough about where she put her purse at the coffee shop one morning.

No one was immune from Bobby's increasing anger and frustration. His outburst at Captain Ross over the incompetence of the forensics department was understandable, but of great concern to the captain, who could see the stress his best detective was putting on himself.

What had finally brought it all to a head had nothing to do directly with Bobby or Amy. They still weren't even really sure why they were sitting with Eames in the Captain's office that morning. Things had been relatively quiet the last several days. Bobby had quit snapping at everyone, Amy had finally resigned herself to the necessity of the protective detail, and Eames was totally at a loss as to her place in all this except as Bobby's "handler" while he was protecting Amy.

The cause of this meeting was Detective Mike Logan and his partner, Megan Wheeler. The two detectives had crossed paths several months ago with Assistant District Attorney Terry Driver over the murder of the recently released sex offender Kyle Jones. Five years ago, Driver had bullied a young woman into believing Jones had raped her, sending him to prison. After Jones was found brutally murdered and decapitated, Logan and Wheeler uncovered Driver's coercion of the young witness. This incited Mike Logan's anger towards her.

There were several heated confrontations between Logan and Driver. Wheeler was present and heard Driver threaten Logan's job if he didn't back off. The persistence and smart investigative work of Logan and Wheeler paid off with the discovery that Ricky Moss had killed Kyle Jones, with the help of his friend, Lewis Olsen, in an attempt to impress a girl that Ricky liked. Logan had become even more angry at Driver when they watched the news from squad's media room as she took credit for the arrests.

Only yesterday, the three watched the news in that same media room, as Terry Driver took credit yet again for the hard work of Logan and Wheeler, this time in the exoneration of Randy Nichols. Nichols had been in prison for 16 years for a crime he said he didn't commit. Once again, Logan and Wheeler uncovered evidence that proved Terry Driver's biggest case, the one she "made her bones on", needed to be overturned. The course of the investigation proved that Driver had not investigated the case thoroughly enough and had led to even more heated confrontations between Logan and Driver, causing Ross to question Logan as to whether or not he had a personal vendetta against the woman.

That same day, Ross received an envelope marked, "Captain Ross, CONFIDENTIAL". In it were three damning photos. The first was of Colin and Megan exiting a limousine outside the recent Credit Belgique Cares "End World Hunger" Benefit. The second photo was taking inside the benefit and showed Colin talking to James Nelson, CEO of The Nelson Fund; Ross did not understand the significance of that photo, until he saw the third one. This photo showed Nelson shaking hands with Vito "The Snake" Gardino, a mob boss. Ross took the photos back to his office and mused over who was having Colin watched and why. The only conclusion he could draw was that Terry Driver was out to get Megan Wheeler at any cost. He later warned Wheeler, who merely told her Captain, "My eyes are open."

Upon further perusal of the photos, Ross's blood began to boil and his ulcer flared. There, on the steps behind Colin and Megan, waiting to go inside the Credit Belgique Benefit, were Amy Wainwright and Robert Goren. The two were standing close to each other, watching the arrivals. Bobby's hand was protectively around Amy's waist. Ross sighed. He had so been hoping Bobby's continued involvement with the Wainwright's would not be another blemish on his pock-marked record.

Several days later, Ross watched on the evening news as footage of Colin Ledger's arrest at the airport was shown on all the news channels, with his teary-eyed fiancée, Detective Megan Wheeler, in full view of the cameras. He sighed and scratched the back of his head as he realized the implications of the arrest. Megan's vehement insistence that she had no knowledge of any of Colin's alleged criminal behavior did little to quell his anger, as once again, the Chief of Detectives, the Mayor and the Captain of the NYPD were all breathing down his neck over the poor conduct of his detectives.

It took a statement from the FBI saying that Megan Wheeler was in no way the subject of their investigation to quash the matter, and allow her to keep her job.

However, Ross's growing frustration with Bobby and Amy climbed exponentially higher as the evening news footage also included the Credit Belgique Benefit photo of Colin and Megan with Bobby and Amy clearly distinguishable in the background. This had prompted a very loud, heated rampage from the Chief of D's over Detective Goren and his apparent lack of respect for his badge and the department.

A very weary Ross finally walked into his office and shut the door. His unruly curls were even more disheveled than usual, and he looked as though he hadn't slept in several days.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why I called you here," he said somberly as he took his seat behind his desk.

"Several days ago, I received this envelope," he said, holding up the one marked "Captain Ross; Confidential."

"There were several photographs in it, one of which directly concerns you three."

He pulled out the one of Colin and Megan getting out of their limo and handed it across the desk to Bobby.

"Why, may I ask, were you two at the Credit Belgique Benefit in the first place?"

It was Amy who finally spoke up, after looking at the photograph. "I've provided wine service for several of their events in the past, and the Foundation has supported their End World Hunger Benefit for many years now. I was invited. Bobby, I mean, Detective Goren, came along as my escort."

She passed the photo Eames, who looked at it in consternation.

"Well, now that Colin Ledger has been arrested by the FBI for money laundering, racketeering and fraud, I've got the Brass breathing down my neck about you two dating," he grumbled, waving his hand at Bobby and Amy. "Is there any possibility at all that your Foundation could be accused of criminal involvement in all this?"

"I don't think so. We've researched Credit Belgique Cares very thoroughly. They seem to be honest and legitimate with their financial dealings. All the monies they collect go directly to very reputable world hunger organizations."

"All right," Ross nodded. "But you two…watch your backs. I don't need any of this, or your relationship to and with each other to come back to haunt me."

He sat forward suddenly and leaned on his desk.

"Are there any new developments in our mystery letter writer case?"

"No, Captain," Eames answered smartly. "Forensics has gone over every letter and envelope with a fine tooth comb. Whoever this person is, he or she is very careful not to leave even so much as a single dead skin cell behind. It's almost like a sterile machine wrote and sent those letters."

"Thank you, Eames. That'll be all. I need to talk to these two in private," Ross said.

Eames rose from her chair, casting a questioning look at Bobby, who returned her look with an innocent shrug. She smiled tersely at Amy, gave a sharp nod to the Captain, and left.

After the door had closed, Ross sharply focused his attention on Bobby and Amy.

"Now, just exactly what is going on between the two of you," he asked sharply.

"What do you mean, Captain," Bobby asked confusedly.

"I mean, you don't exactly look like you're on the job in this photo," Ross said angrily as he tossed the photo with Bobby and Amy in it at his detective. "Looks more to me like you two were on a date. You're supposed to be protecting her, not dating her!"

Amy shifted uncomfortably in her chair and glanced at Bobby. The man was looking down at his lap, his ears tinged red and his feet shuffling. Captain Ross took all this in and sighed.

"I don't really want to know, do I?"

The silence that followed his question was damning, as was the inability of either Bobby or Amy to look at him directly.

"Get out of here," he barked at them. "But I'm warning you; watch your back, Detective."

"Yes, sir," Bobby said smartly as he quickly escorted Amy out of the Captain's office.

Later that day, after dinner, Bobby sat in the cozy living area of the apartment above Trey's home. He had all but moved in there permanently since he had become the head of Amy's protective detail. It was much easier for him to have a base of operations here and a place to stay in the city, than to have to drive out to Brooklyn all the time. He still frequented his apartment from time to time when he wasn't watching Amy, stopping in to check the mail or pick up more clothes or other personal belongings.

Now, as he sat relaxing in his favorite recliner, his latest requisition from his apartment, he sipped a tumbler of Scotch and allowed his thoughts to wander.

The Captain was right; he would have to watch his back, especially now that he was in photos taken by the FBI. Not even a written statement from them, strongly denying that neither he nor Amy, or the Wainwright Foundation were under investigation in connection to Colin Ledger's alleged misdeeds would be completely reassuring. He would need to do some asking around of his own before he could be completely at ease to that end.

As he focused mentally on the picture that had Ross so upset, the one with him and Amy on the steps outside the benefit, he began to see it clearly in his mind. He remembered her dress, the way she had felt in his arms as they danced, the way she had responded to him on the way home. He sighed deeply and allowed his mind to wander back to that magical night.

It had been a fun evening. They had gone to the End World Hunger Benefit, sponsored by Credit Belgique Cares. Bobby had been surprised to learn that Amy knew his co-worker, Detective Megan Wheeler and her fiancé Colin Ledger. Megan and Colin had arrived just after Bobby and Amy, in a sea of flash bulbs, as they watched from the steps leading up to the entrance. Amy handled the introductions and Bobby was pleased to finally meet Megan's fiancé.

Since the winery was not involved in this affair, they were able to enjoy the evening as attendees and not workers. After the cocktail hour, they had shared a table with Megan and Colin, District Attorney Jack McCoy, who had brought his daughter as his escort, and two other couples. The meal was superb, and after a few brief speeches from the head table, the evening was turned over to the band.

Bobby and Amy spent most of the rest of the evening dancing. By the time dessert had been served, the conversation at their table was mostly political, and they had both become quite uncomfortable as neither one cared to get in on that discussion. Being on the dance floor was a welcome escape.

Bobby swung Amy out away from him, enjoying the swirl of her long, full skirt. She was wearing the most amazing red dress he had ever seen. The top was a pleated halter, the v of the neck plunging all the way down to the wide beaded band that encircled her waist. The back was, well, there was no back, simply the beaded band at her waist, from which the full skirt flowed. Bobby had been waiting for the dancing to begin so that he could get his hands on her.

When they had met in the foyer of Amy's apartment, she had been wearing an exquisite long-sleeved full-length brown wool coat. As they sat in the limo on the ride to dinner, he could see her red skirt peeping out from under the bottom of the coat, as well as her very sexy, strappy silver heels. His imagination had wandered far and wide as to what the rest of her dress looked like, hidden under her long coat, and he had struggled to keep his attention on her as she gave him a crash course on the who and the what of the evening.

It had taken every ounce of his will not to gasp when she took off her coat and turned it in to the coat-check attendant for the evening. When she had turned back around and smiled at him, Bobby's heart skipped a beat.

"You…you look incredible," he had managed to say.

"Thank you," she smiled back sincerely. "You look quite handsome yourself."

He was wearing the tuxedo he had been given several months ago, and she thought he was the most handsome man there. She kept this to herself though; she knew telling him publicly would only bring him great embarrassment.

And now, they were together on the dance floor, she was in his arms, and his hands were finally on her long, smooth expanse of back. Her skin was soft and warm under his touch, and he was enjoying the feel of her long body against his. Although it was annoying, he was gracious when Amy's male friends would dance by and ask to cut in. He didn't mind dancing with other women, but was always relieved whenever Amy returned to his arms.

He loved her smile, and she was smiling a lot as he spun her around the dance floor, twirling her away, pulling her close, dipping her every now and then. He was in heaven.

Amy was in heaven. She was reveling in the feel of his large, strong hands on her back, softly stroking her skin or simply holding her gently at the waist. She loved seeing his eyes sparkling as they danced. For the first time since Laura's murder, he looked truly happy. She was determined to keep him like this as much as possible.

The evening ended all too soon, and they found themselves back in the limo. Bobby had slid into the corner of the limo where the long bench seat curved around and stretched to the back of the driver's seat. There was a fully stocked mini-bar breaking up the bench, and another bench that could hold three more passengers on the other side, between the front passenger door and the back passenger door that they had used earlier that evening. He had never seen anything like this limo and was still amazed that he was actually getting paid to ride around in it.

As he studied Amy, he realized that he had never seen anything like her, either. She was leaning against the window, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her eyes closed. She opened one of her eyes and smiled at him.

"What are you staring at," she asked.

"A beautiful woman," his low voice answered softly. He enjoyed the soft blush that crept across her face.

Suddenly, she shrugged off her coat and bent forward to rub her foot.

"God, my feet are so sore," she groaned. "I haven't danced like that since Trey and Laura's wedding."

He reached down and lifted her feet, gently placing them in his lap. He quietly and softly removed each shoe then began to massage her feet. He could feel her tense at his touch, but as he continued, she sighed deeply and audibly. He watched her eyes close and her face relax as he massaged each foot in turn.

Then he moved his hands up slightly and began to massage her calves. She moaned as he gently massaged each calf then began to stroke the smooth skin of her legs.

After a few moments, she slowly sat forward, meeting his gaze directly with hers.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Mr. Goren," she asked huskily, moving her arm along the back of the seat, bringing it to rest at the nape of his neck.

He swallowed hard as she sank her fingers in his hair and began to play with the soft curls.

"Massaging your sore calves," he managed to answer.

She narrowed her eyes and looked slyly at him. "Hmmm, I don't think so."

She slid over closer to him, her thighs now draped across his, and wrapped her other arm around him. She was nearly nose to nose with him now, and he felt his heart rate quicken at her closeness.

"I think you are trying to get under my dress—"

She shushed his protestations with a finger to his lips and continued to tease him with her eyes as she spoke. "And I think you've been trying to get under it all night."

He raised his arms in mock surrender.

"Guilty as charged," he proclaimed, as she giggled softly.

"So, what are you going to do, arrest me," he asked wickedly.

"Now there's a thought," she said coyly. "But, you seem to be without your handcuffs."

"Mmmm…so, what else did you have in mind?" He lowered his arms and placed his hands on her waist, pulling her closer.

She looked at him, her gaze solid and unwavering. She kept her eyes on his as she kissed him. He read everything in that kiss, and knew that soon, there would be no turning back for them.

Bobby slowly pulled away, ending the kiss and meeting her eyes again.

She said nothing, but grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him again, hard.

Bobby groaned as his body responded hard and fast to hers. He pressed his hand into her back as his other hand slid up to grab her hair and hold her tight. They kissed, hard and deep for several moments before Amy pushed herself firmly away from him.

When Bobby tried to pull her back, she said, "Wait."

Amy moved up to the front of the limo and pressed a button. Part of the window dividing the driver's seat from the back of the limo slid softly down, and she spoke quietly to the driver and then raised the window.

She moved back to sit next to Bobby, but he pulled her onto his lap instead, holding her there his hands firm but gentle on her hips.

"What did you say to him," he whispered.

"I asked him to drive around until we told him we were ready to go home," she whispered back as she lowered her head to kiss him again.

The kiss was long and deep and took them both to places they had never been before. Bobby's hands had slowly moved up Amy's back and she felt like her skin was on fire where he touched her. She shifted so that she could straddle him, and pushed herself up on his muscular upper arms to gaze down at him.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered as his hands moved to play in her hair at the nape of her neck. She gasped as she felt the buttons holding the halter top of her dress together begin to give way under his nimble fingers. His gaze never wavered from hers as the top fell away, baring her breasts. His hands slid slowly down until he could hook his thumbs under her arms and pull her close. He took first one breast, then the other between his lips, licking, nipping, suckling each breast gently in turn.

Amy rested her forearms on his shoulders. Her head fell back and she gasped and moaned at the pleasurable sensations he was sending through her body. She felt herself climbing higher and higher up the cliff of pleasure and felt she would surely topple over the edge if he didn't stop.

Bobby could tell she was extremely aroused and it only served to fuel his own desire for her. He felt her shudder with pleasure and slowly began to lower her back down onto his lap. Capturing her mouth with his, he wrapped his long right arm around her back to cradle her to him and continued to stroke her breast with his left hand.

When she lowered her arm and began to push his jacket aside, he stopped long enough to slip out of it, before pulling her close and kissing her again. He didn't stop her when she reached behind him, first undoing the cummerbund, then his vest. He shifted slightly, allowing her to remove the garments.

Her eyes met his brazenly as she began to undo the buttons of his shirt. She leaned forward and began to plant soft kisses on the broad expanse of his chest, moving down as the shirt opened. She pulled the shirt free of the waist band of his pants then silently undid the cuff links holding the sleeves closed. When he caressed her cheek with his hand, she leaned into it and moaned before taking each long finger slowly into her mouth and sucking each one in turn.

When she raised her eyes to look at him, he finally spoke.

"Amy, are you sure about this? I mean, well…uh…this isn't exactly the way I had imagined we would…you know…."

"What do you mean? I thought you wanted this."

"I do, but…here? In the back of a limo? When we make love, and we will make love, I want it to be special. In a huge bed somewhere, surrounded by pillows and fine linens and away from stop signs and traffic lights." He shushed her with a soft kiss and continued. "This is not what I want for us, okay?"

Amy nodded, but disappointment was clearly on her face.

Bobby hugged her to him then, feeling both their bodies react as naked skin came into contact with naked skin. He felt her nipples harden against his chest, and almost, but not quite, regretted his words. Slowly, he began to stroke her back, his fingers skimming across her skin, feeling her shudder beneath him. He continued to stroke and caress, she continued to shudder and respond. He lifted her, positioning her so that both her legs were once again across his lap. He captured her mouth with his, and slid his hand slowly up under her skirt. He almost stopped when he discovered the sturdy elastic undergarment sheathing her thighs and lower torso.

"What's this," he asked her huskily as his fingers played with the edge of the elastic along her inner thigh. He was sending such incredible sensations through her body, she could hardly answer.

"Spanx ™," she mumbled against his lips. "Bobby," she pleaded as she squirmed on his lap.

"Don't stop. Please?" She was practically begging.

"Amy, I…" he was at a loss until she reached down and guided his hand. And there, in the back of a limo, slowly circling through Central Park, Bobby Goren discovered the secret to Spanx™, and Amy was reminded of what she had thrown away all those years ago.


	22. Chapter 22

_Thanks to ciaddict for encouraging me to keep at it until I got this chapter finished. I know it's shorter than usual, but I don't think you'll be disappointed! tuda_

**Chapter 22**

Several weeks later, Bobby sat in Amy's conference room and watched as she led a meeting. Samantha was there, taking notes. Trey and Patty, along with a well-known Broadway producer and a famous Broadway star-turned-director were also in attendance. The group was planning for the Wainwright Foundation's Annual Broadway Bash, a silent auction and variety show featuring acts from current and past Broadway productions. Bobby's job was to coordinate the security for the event.

It was an interesting mix of personalities, and Amy handled them all with grace and elegance. While she had a no-nonsense approach to her meetings, there was still plenty of room for jokes and laughter as the group lined up the performances for the evening, choosing popular numbers and scenes from many of the current shows and mixing them with several sentimental favorites.

Because the Bash was to be in early December, the group decided that the ending scene should be Christmas-y in nature. This worked out perfectly, as the popular Bing Crosby musical, "White Christmas" was being brought to the Broadway stage for November and December. It was obvious that scenes from popular shows such as "Wicked", "Hairspray", and "Spam-a-lot" should be included; the group also chose to invite two new musicals, "Young Frankenstein" and "Shrek" and the revival of "South Pacific" to be a part of the evening. As was the tradition, Amy would sing at least one number during the evening, and Amy and Trey would present the grant recipients for that year.

The producer and director were put in charge of selecting the order of the performances and the scripting that would tie the evening together. They would handle all of the backstage logistics and choose the host or hosts for the evening.

Next, the group began to discuss the venue. The previous year's Bash was so popular, there was a waiting list for the first time ever, and the impression was that a larger auditorium would bring in even more revenue for the Foundation. The only hitch was that the venue needed to underwrite the building usage costs, basically allowing the Foundation full run of the place for free. Even with the knowledge that doing so was a giant tax right-off, very few places were able to afford such an undertaking.

Lincoln Center had sponsored the last several events, but the feeling was that the potential attendance had outgrown the Linoln's seating capacity. Several other, larger auditoriums were available, including the beautiful, new City Center and Madison Square Garden. Bobby shot down the latter, saying that proper security would be next to impossible. Very few people outside the family and the MCS knew about the letters and threats, so it took some fancy footwork on Bobby's part to convince the group that MSG was NOT the best place.

"What about the new City Center," Bobby suggested. "The auditorium has the larger seating capacity you need, plus there are several large rooms for the auction and cocktail hour. The location is easily accessible for guests and very easy to keep secure."

"Excuse me," the Broadway producer spoke up, disdain dripping from his voice. "And just how would know these things?

"I work for the NYPD," Bobby answered politely. "We are required to learn about all of the major buildings in the city; access routes, entrances and exits, underground openings, fire escapes, everything. Ever since 9-11 it's been a mandatory part of the job, in case we are needed to protect a location or an area of town for visiting dignitaries or against terror threats."

He paused and studied the man across the table from him closely. "Or after, like in 2001," he added somberly. "You are expecting some of the richest, most important and powerful people in this city to be in attendance. Wouldn't you like to know they are all going to be safe?"

The producer sat back in admiration. He was impressed that Amy would go to such lengths to guarantee the safety of the performers and patrons.

A brief discussion ensued and the group decided that using City Center would be the best location for this year.

Bobby re-assured the group that he would take care of all the security arrangements, including hiring security guards and arranging for police protection, if warranted. Samantha offered him the security files from past events for him to study. He excused himself then, begging off to get started.

He walked down the carpeted hall to his office. Amy had given him the one next to hers. It was a corner office. The view wasn't much, as they were in the middle of their block, but still, it was a corner office and it was all his. Even if it was only temporary.

As he entered his office and shrugged off his jacket, he asked himself if he wanted it to be only temporary. Could doing corporate security full-time give him the same rush as police work? A lot of this job's responsibilities were the very reasons he did not want to be in management with the NYPD: scheduling, personnel issues, financial record-keeping, budgeting. He would get to see Amy every day, and work closely with her. That was a definite perk, he said to himself as he tossed his jacket over a side chair. But was it enough of a perk, he wondered.

He sat at his desk and fingered the mouse pad on his laptop, bringing the monitor to life. He called up his e-mail, then leaned back in his chair, loosened his tie and flipped idly through the stack of mail on his desk as he waited for the computer to do its thing.

He was amazed at how much mail he was already receiving; he'd only been "working" here for a few weeks, and the office and job title were mainly for show. No public announcement of the threats to the Wainwright Foundation had been made; none were planned. He noticed very little of the mail had his name on it; he assumed that someone else in the office had been handling anything security related. Now that there was a legitimate threat, the company benefited from his presence as head of security.

Most of the mail was trash and went into the small wastebasket next to his chair. Some of it was interesting; a few seminars on security begging him to attend, luring him with titles like, "Securing Events in the New Millennium" and "Optimizing Computer Security in the Corporate Environment". He tossed those to the side, making a mental note to check with Amy and Captain Ross as to the relevance of some extra training to his job here.

A plain white envelope with his name typed on it suddenly grabbed his attention. Bobby sat upright in his chair and his blood ran cold. Carefully placing the letter to one side, he moved the laptop to the floor and cleared off the center of his desk. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and shook it open. He fumbled through his desk drawers until he found a letter opener. Using the handkerchief to keep his skin from coming into contact with the paper, he very carefully slit the side of the envelope, blew into it gently to open it further, and then turned his hand so that the sheet of paper inside slid out onto the desk. He used two pens to open the letter.

It was just like the others in that it was typed on plain paper. However, he felt frozen in his chair as he read the letter:

_"Detective Goren," it began._

"You think you are so f**k**g smart, being with that bitch all the time.

Did you think you could protect her from me?

Do you really think that being with her all the time is going to stop me?

That foundation is pure evil and must be stopped.

I will succeed. And if I take you down as well, so be it."

********************************

Eames was surprised to see Bobby entering the bullpen. His demeanor said he was there for business, not pleasure, and when he paused outside Captain Ross's door and gestured for her to follow, she quickly obliged.

Ross and Bobby shook hands and greeted each other tersely. Ross gestured for Bobby and Eames to be seated before reaching out his hand to Bobby.

"When did you get this," he asked as he studied the sheet of paper.

"Today."

"You know this changes everything," Ross said as he sat down at his desk.

Bobby began to pace as Alex sat at one of the chairs facing Ross and took the letter to study for herself. The original was now safely in an evidence bag, as Bobby had stopped by Forensics on the way upstairs. There, he had carefully logged in the letter, filled out the label on the evidence bag, copied the letter and carefully sealed the original in the bag. Eames was looking at a copy.

"Right now, it appears to be no different from any of the previous letters except for its content," Bobby remarked as he stopped pacing, shoved his hands in his pockets and stared out the window. "I doubt forensics will find any new trace evidence on it either."

"You know this means I have to take you completely off this case," Ross said as he watched Goren carefully.

When Goren remained silent, he continued. "I can keep you on as a consultant."

Ross sighed. "Upstairs wants your insight and expertise on this, but they don't want you directly involved in handling evidence."

Goren turned back to face Ross and Alex and leaned against the window frame.

Alex spoke softly. "What about me, Captain? I was his go-between for the last several weeks. Am I still on the case?"

"As of now, yes," Ross answered. "But be careful, Detective. If you detect any threats in your direction, you come to me first, understood?"

She nodded.

"Captain," Bobby spoke up.

"Yes, Detective?"

"I'm worried about protecting the rest of the family now. I mean, if he can get a letter to me, he can get a letter to any of them, and maybe even get to them. I want protection for them, too."

"You're asking a lot, Detective, but I'll see what I can do. For now, wrap up what you can and I'll put in a call to the Chief first thing in the morning. You'll have to turn in your badge and gun for now."

A tuneful ping had Bobby reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a Blackberry© and looking at the screen.

Ross and Eames looked at each other, their bemused expressions seeming to say, "Really?"

Bobby looked up at them, slightly embarrassed. "It's a company phone," he said, as he turned his attention back to the small display screen.

He thumbed the screen, then blanched as he read.

"Bobby," Alex asked concernedly.

"Captain? You'd better make that call now. Trey and Samantha got letters today, too."

*******************************

On Staten Island, an abandoned warehouse holds a single individual. He bends down and lights a slim fuse, gets into his car and drives a safe distance away. He parks, gets out, standing in the open doorway of the car as the building shudders, glass cracking and flying through the air. A second later, the shockwave and the sounds reach his location. He smiles as the flames pour out the windows and dark smoke billows up into the clear blue sky. His location is perfect; he sees everything, yet is far away by the time the sounds of sirens fill the air, and police and fire vehicles arrive.

Later that night, back home in his Brooklyn apartment, he watches the news stories of the explosion. Investigators suspect arson, but the evidence is scant. He smiles.

_So far, so good_, he thinks.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

It was September 11, exactly 7 years since the tragedy of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Both Bobby and Amy were in a somber mood that day. When they got home, he invited her to join him for dinner at his apartment.

When Amy arrived, Bobby was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a pan of chicken fajitas. The History Channel was on in the living room, and Amy stopped to watch as a 9-11 survivor recounted her story for a video journalist.

Bobby noticed her pensive mood, but decided not to press the issue. This was a hard day for America, New Yorkers in particular, and he was not excluded from that group. Quietly, he fixed a plate for each of them and took them to the table. They chatted about their day, progress on the various events coming up, and other trivial matters. Neither one wanted to address the proverbial elephant in the room.

After they had eaten, Amy poured more wine and they retreated to the living room. Bobby sat on the sofa. Amy sat stiffly on the recliner and sipped her wine. The TV was still on, this time featuring interviews with firefighters who had been in New York City when the towers were hit.

Amy spoke softly on a commercial break. "Where were you?"

Bobby sipped his wine before he spoke. When he did, it was quiet, reflective. "At my desk in the squad room. At first, no one wanted to believe it. Someone found a TV, wheeled it into the middle of the room and turned it on. I remember we were all crowded in front of it when the second plane hit. I felt like I had just been punched in the gut."

Amy sensed a deep sadness in him, and she moved over to sit with him on the sofa.

"What did you do," she asked.

"Whatever was needed. Mainly helping with traffic control around the area of the attack. We're not trained to do search and rescue in the MCS. I, uh, we…felt pretty helpless, not being able to be at Ground Zero." Bobby sighed and Amy reached out and placed her hand over his where it sat on his leg.

"I went to way too many funerals and memorials after that." Bobby took another sip of his wine and finally looked at Amy.

She squeezed his hand before replying. "I went to too many, too."

Bobby raised his eyebrows and studied her sympathetically, squeezing her hand back.

"I had friends who worked…..there." She stressed the word "there", unable to say any other words. "Clients, too."

Amy paused and Bobby shifted slightly on the couch, facing her fully. He hoped this would encourage her to continue.

She smiled ruefully then continued. "Even the restaurant was a winery client; they stocked several of our wines. It was an economic shock for a while." She took a sip of her wine, then an unsteady breath as she struggled to quell her emotions.

"Amy, are you okay?" Bobby took both her hands in his.

She looked away, unable to meet his compassionate face; those soft, brown eyes full of concern, concern for her.

The show on the History Channel suddenly changed its focus from NYC to Pennsylvania, where Flight 93 crashed after the hijackers were thwarted by the brave passengers on board. Amy's attention was suddenly riveted to the screen, and Bobby watched, stunned, as Amy's face changed to one of extreme grief and tears began to flow down her face.

"Amy?" This was not what he expected. Bobby was very worried about her now.

Finally, the show went to a commercial break and Amy turned towards Bobby.

"Do," she hiccupped. "Do you remember," she hiccupped again. "Uh, remember Kelly?"

"Kelly from Germany?"

Amy nodded as she sobbed again. She took a deep breath and pressed on. "She was on that flight. The one that crashed in Pennsylvania."

Bobby gasped, then pulled Amy to him and hugged her. "I'm so sorry, Amy," he said softly as he held her.

Suddenly, the stress and exhaustion of the last several weeks, coupled with the grief of losing one of her best friends, overwhelmed her. She cried; a hard, cleansing cry that lasted for quite a while. Through it all, Bobby calmly held her, comforting her while giving her the freedom she needed to let it all out. When she was finally finished, she shifted, bringing her arms around his body and hugging him back. Amy buried her face in his neck as she took a final, sobbing breath and sighed deeply. As she pulled back from him, she pressed her lips firmly to his cheek.

"Thank you," she said, giving him a peck on his lips. "I needed that."

"You're welcome," he replied, giving her a peck on the lips in return. "Any time," he said with a smile.

They both turned back to the television. Bobby lifted his arm and placed it around Amy's shoulders as she settled in and curled up next to him, her head on his shoulder.

Trey found them that way an hour later. He had started going up to Bobby's apartment in the evenings after putting Hudson to bed. The two men would have a drink and talk for several hours, sharing stories, talking about work, sports, whatever happened to be on their minds.

Amy looked up as he entered. She moved her legs off the couch and extended her hand to Trey. Silently, he joined them on the couch, settling in next his mom and holding her hand. The three of them sat quietly and watched the History Channel together for several more hours, each one silently reliving the horror and tragedy of that day while finding comfort in each other's presence.

Three weeks had passed since Bobby, Trey and Samantha received letters from the same anonymous source, and it was now October in New York. Crisp, cool breezes filled the air and the smell of fall leaves from the park mingled with the scent of burning wood from neighborhood fireplaces.

There was no forensic evidence to be gathered from these letters either, which was significant evidence in and of itself: the source clearly did not want to be identified until he or she had carried out their threat.

Setting up the protective detail wasn't easy. The schedule was a complicated one, as it was decided the rest of the family as well as Samantha, Christy and Mrs. Mitchell now needed protection.

Amy had begrudgingly accepted Eames's presence as one of her "bodyguards" although neither one preferred that term, instead referring to Eames as Amy's assistant. Amy soon found herself growing fond of the sharp woman, appreciative of her detective's eye for detail and realized that they were becoming friends. They had many shared interests other than Bobby, one of which was little boys; Amy found herself enjoying the times when she and Alex could let their guards down and talk about Hudson and Alex's nephew. Both really enjoyed comparing notes about Bobby and remarking at how similar Bobby and Trey were.

Protecting Christy and Hudson was easy. Sometimes Bobby was with them, but mostly that job fell to three experienced policewomen all with young children of their own or closely related to them who became play dates for Hudson and "nanny friends" for Christy. Trey had wanted to enroll Hudson in preschool that fall, but nixed the idea once the threats to his family became ominous.

The coup de grace was bringing Mike Logan on board as Trey's main protector, and the company's assistant director of security. Mike was thrilled to be doing a job that involved many of the aspects of police and detective work he loved, but with a much larger salary and better perks. When Ross had suggested Logan to Bobby, and told him what had happened to him recently, Bobby wasted no time in asking Amy to allow him to bring Mike on board. Amy was impressed by Logan's credentials and readily agreed. Trey had initially balked at Bobby not being his main protector, but had soon taken to Mike like he was the young man's long lost older brother.

Amy had been saddened by the news of Colin's arrest and had taken Megan to lunch soon after. The young woman assured Amy she would be fine, but that she was worried about Mike. Amy's decision to hire Mike was welcome relief to Megan, and she, too, assured Amy that hiring Mike was a good thing.

Family get-togethers became complicated affairs requiring lots of planning and coordination between the protective detail, and the family. Even the office was beginning to feel cramped with the extra security personnel around every day. It began to wear on everyone; tempers flared from time to time, but the day Bobby and Mike nearly came to blows in the hallway outside her office caused Amy to erupt.

She wasn't even aware she had verbalized the scream of frustration that had been building up inside her, but once it released itself, she felt better than she had in days.

A cough from behind had her turning around to discover Samantha and Trey standing stunned in her doorway, Mike and Bobby peering over their shoulders, and several other employees staring at her through the glass pane next to the doorway.

Amy blushed. Then she straightened, took a deep breath and apologized for her outburst.

"Are you okay, Mom," Trey asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I'm better now. Guess I didn't realize how uptight we'd all become until Mike and Bobby were yelling in the hall, and I just lost it."

She studied them all carefully, noticing the stress etched into their faces and how tired all their eyes looked.

"WE need an office party," she declared suddenly. "As of right now, you are all off-duty. There will be beer and pizza in the conference room within the hour. Mike, will you take care of the beer?"

Mike nodded and Amy continued. "Good. Thank you. I'll call for pizza. Bobby, would you please stay here with me? The rest of you can go turn off your computers and round up some plates and napkins and such."

When everyone had left, Bobby quietly shut the door and walked over to Amy, who was now standing at her window, staring out into space. Wordlessly, she turned and stepped into his open arms. He held her tight and felt her begin to relax, her body loosening in his arms.

Their relationship had turned serious since the Banq Belgic gala that had gotten their pictures in the paper and resulted in a heated limousine ride through Central Park. While not yet completely physically intimate, they were clearly able to read each other's thoughts and feelings. Bobby slapped himself mentally for not picking up on the extent of Amy's frustration sooner.

He loosened his hold on her and gently tipped her chin up, softly fitting his lips against hers. He felt her sigh and relax even more before he released her altogether.

She stared at him blankly.

He chuckled softly.

"Don't you think you should at least order the pizza before we make out?"

"Oh! Yes….yes! You're right." She blushed furiously, then moved over to the computer, tapped a few keys and placed their usual company order with the pizza parlor a few blocks away.

She still found it quite hard to believe that she was once again dating Bobby Goren. Even the most mundane winery function was more fun to plan and work with him by her side. He fit into the company so seamlessly, it was as if he'd always been there. His contributions to the logistical and security planning of winery and gallery events were priceless; his deep knowledge of buildings and security invaluable to the success of recent events.

It never ceased to amaze her just how wonderful he could make her feel with a simple glance. A gentle touch from him conveyed volumes. And heaven help her when he really kissed her. He made her toes curl. If she thought about it too much, she found herself sitting at her computer fully aroused. They had yet to have intercourse, but Amy was sure it was simply a matter of time.

Bobby was now completely moved into the apartment above Trey's home. The discovery that Trey had paid all of his back rent at his old apartment had nearly brought the two men to blows. Bobby had at first been offended by the gesture, but only after both Amy and AJ had long, separate talks with him, had Bobby realized that Trey meant no insult; he was merely doing what he would do for any member of his family. Amy came up with the perfect solution when she suggested that Bobby donate the amount of the back rent to the Foundation in memory of Frances and Laura.

The pizza party was the perfect break everyone needed. The mood lightened considerably, and when Mike suggested moving the party to Peter J's for drinks several hours later, everyone but Amy and Bobby took him up on it. Begging off due to an early meeting at the City Center theatre, Bobby and Amy retreated to Amy's office to wrap things up.

"I think that went well," Bobby said as they began to pack up.

"I agree," Amy said as she moved around the office closing the shades. She then double-checked her laptop, before packing it away.

"You ready," Bobby asked.

"All set."

Bobby turned the light off and followed Amy out the door. He caught up to her in a few long strides, and held her hand as they quietly made their way to Amy's car.

It was a very rowdy group Mike led into Peter J's. They commandeered several large tables, quickly pushing them together and settling in. A round of drinks soon followed.

Alex was sitting between Trey and Samantha. She had been surprised when Samantha agreed to go, but was enjoying seeing a "looser side of Sam." This strait-laced, no-nonsense worker was fun when she was tipsy.

"Oh, hello," Samantha said suddenly, craning her head around Alex and staring towards the door. Alex turned to see what had caught Samantha's attention.

"Who is that," Samantha wondered. "He's cute," she giggled.

"And you're married," Alex pointed out.

"A girl can look, can't she," Samantha countered. "And that is quite an eyeful."

Alex joined her in giggling as she agreed. They ogled the handsome arrival as he made his way to the bar. Jamie was on the other side of Samantha and soon she, too, was admiring the good-looking man at the bar. They all sighed at the same time then turned back to the group in a fit of giggles.

Suddenly, Trey stiffened.

"What's the matter," Mike asked. He noticed Trey was looking towards the door with a scowl on his face, but didn't recognize anyone when he looked.

"Excuse me," Trey said abruptly as he got up from the table and pushed his way through the crowd.

Fearing trouble, Mike got up and tried to follow. Soon he spotted Trey near the restrooms, arguing with a very attractive woman. Mike approached quietly and tapped Trey on the shoulder.

"Everything okay," he asked.

"Yes, it's fine," Trey snapped back.

Mike raised his eyebrows, an expression of shock on his usually calm face.

"I'm sorry," Trey backpedaled. "Mike Logan, this is Judith Edwards, Laura's sister. Judith, Mike Logan."

"Pleased to meet you," Mike said, extending his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine," Judith purred in response, her body language changing from one of defense to one of extreme sensuality.

"Are we done here," she pointedly asked Trey. Her eyes were still firmly fixed on Mike and she was still holding his hand.

Trey sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yes, we're done here," he said disdainfully.

He reached out and untangled Mike's hand from Judith's grip. "I think we should return to our group now, don't you," he asked Mike firmly.

"You go on back. I think I'll stay here and get to know Judith a little better," he said, while gazing appreciatively over her luscious figure. "You gonna be safe getting home?"

"I'll be fine. I'll get Alex to drop me off. Be careful, Mike; she's dangerous," Trey tossed out that last bit as he began to push his way back through the crowd toward the rest of the group.

"Danger is my middle name," Mike's voice oozed as he stepped closer to Judith.

"Well," she exclaimed as she finally released his hand. She placed her arm on his and began to tease his ear with her fingertips. "What exactly does Mike "Danger" Logan do?"

"I do security work for Trey. I'm his primary bodyguard until all this threat mess blows over."

Judith scowled and hugged herself. "That mess is just awful! I'm so glad I'm not messed up in all that. Mom and Dad are very worried. Are Trey and Hudson going to be all right?"

"If Bobby and I have any say so in the matter, yes," Mike said with a determination he didn't really feel at that moment.

"Would you like to dance," Judith asked.

"I would love to dance," Mike said as he glanced around, but there's not much room here and that's not really what folks who come to Peter J's usually do."

"I know. There's a great place not far from here. If you're up to it," she said coyly.

Mike stared intently at her. Judith stared just as intently back. Finally, Mike chuckled and grinned. "Lady, you're on. Let's go."

Judith smiled smugly as she led Mike towards the door and out into the cool night air.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

"So, what happened the other day," Trey asked Mike. They were seated together at the juice bar of a small racket club and gym in Chelsea. There were similar places closer to where he lived, but Trey had been a member here since college, and liked its relative anonymity and more laid-back atmosphere. He had been playing handball here every Saturday morning for the last five years; now that Mike was his primary protector, he was teaching the older man how to play.

"What do you mean," Mike answered innocently. He wiped his hot, sweaty face with a small towel draped across the back of his neck and drained his water bottle.

"When you and Judith left the bar, that's what I mean," Trey said.

"Now, don't you go gettin' all huffy with me, Trey. Judith and I are adults; we can take care of ourselves."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Trey replied defensively.

"I know exactly what you mean, and nothing happened," Mike reiterated firmly. He straightened up and deftly tossed the empty bottle into the nearby trash can.

Mike studied the younger man for a minute and sighed. "Look, Trey, if I say nothing happened, I mean nothing happened. We went dancing, then sat at a corner table in a small diner near her place and talked until 2 in the morning. It was harmless, and it was fun. The best fun I've had with a woman in a long time. She told me all about her reputation, and her career. I told her I'm a former cop and she asked if I'd share some of my crazier exploits as a detective, and I gladly obliged. It was nice, really, to be able to talk about my time with the NYPD with someone who understood and respected it and didn't want to take advantage of it."

"Are you going to see her again," Trey wondered aloud.

"Yes. You got a problem with that?" Mike eyed Trey cautiously. "Why are you so upset anyway? What did she do? Come on to you in front of Laura?"

When Trey looked down at the table and Mike saw the tinge of embarrassment color his ears and face, he realized he was correct.

"Aw, man. I'm sorry, I…I didn't know." He sat back and raised his hands in self-defense. "Look…" He took a deep breath and blew it out hard.

"I really like Judith, okay? I think we might have something, and I want to pursue it. I think enough time has passed that you need to grow up and get over it, okay?"

"She really hurt Laura. I don't think Laura ever got over that. And because I loved Laura so much, it hurt me to see Laura so upset. And, I wasn't the first boy that Judith tried to take away from Laura; I'm just the one that refused her advances. Growing up with an older sister like that, that's not something you ever get over easily. Especially given Judith's propensity to use men and get rid of them when she got tired of playing with them." Trey gave Mike a long, hard look before he added. "I really like you, Mike. I want you to be careful. I want you know just exactly who you're playing with and what you're getting into."

"Thanks, Trey; I appreciate that." Mike looked at his watch. "We need to get going or we're going to lose our court."

Amy sat at her computer, saddened at the photos she was looking at. Several weeks earlier, Hurricane Ike had borne down hard on the Texas Gulf Coast, surging over Galveston Island and wreaking havoc on Port Arthur and much of Southeast Texas. She had felt helpless and alone as she sat in front of the television and watched the disaster unfold in the protected safety of her home thousands of miles away. The pictures on the computer in front of her were heartbreaking. People were finally making their way back home to extreme loss and devastation.

She had spent many a summer on Galveston Island back in high school and college, and still had friends who lived in that area. She smiled faintly as she recalled the trips to Houston for Aggie football games she and her college friends had made.

She wanted to help. She _needed_ to help.

Thankful she was in a position to do so, she picked up her phone and set her travel plans in motion.

Early the next morning, Amy and Bobby left for the Texas Gulf Coast; by noon, they were in a helicopter, flying over Galveston Island, surveying the damage below. The pilot took them northeast to Port Arthur, then back northwest, where they saw firsthand the path of destruction Hurricane Ike had left in its wake. Homes covered with blue tarps where their shingles should be; toppled trees and downed power lines littered the landscape and blocked roads. Broken billboards, road signs, and even a boat littered Interstate 45 as far inland as Clear Lake City. The Kemah boardwalk, where she and her family and friends had enjoyed many a summer's evening, was in shambles. Amy's heart was broken. Even Bobby was affected by what he saw.

The helicopter set down in a large shopping center parking lot. They were met by several town officials, a minister, a Red Cross area disaster relief coordinator and a sheriff. A motorcade then drove them around the area. Several times, Amy asked them to stop so she could get out and talk with people. Bobby thought she was as regal as Princess Diana and as humble as Mother Theresa as she moved among the devastation and talked to the victims.

At the conclusion of their visit, Amy quietly pulled out a checkbook and wrote several large checks from the foundation. One was given to the minister for a local food bank that was in desperate need of more food. Another was given to the Red Cross director and a third was given to the sheriff, to be deposited quietly into the bank account of one of the more needy families she had met that day. It was all she could do at the moment, but she promised herself she would do more once she returned home.

During the trip home, Amy sat quietly holding Bobby's hand, her head on his shoulder, grateful for his quiet strength and support. It had been a long, emotional day.

Halloween was a week away and Trey was flustered. He wasn't really a fan of taking babies out trick-or-treating, but it seemed every time he turned around, someone was sticking a picture of a cute little boy in a costume in his face and asking his opinion. Only Christy was staying out of it. Halloween was Laura's favorite celebration, aside from Christmas, and she knew how hard it was for Trey to think of doing anything Halloween-related this year without Laura. Laura had chosen the family costume last year and the three of them had gone dressed as Barney, Betty and Bam-Bam Rubble.

Hudson was only making things worse. He was fussing loudly and whining for candy while Trey and Mike stood in line at the grocery store.

"So, what have you decided about Halloween," Mike asked as he tried vainly to quell Hudson's cries.

"I want to lock myself in Bobby's apartment and ignore it," he groused.

Mike saw the grief in the young man's clear brown eyes and his heart ached. "I could take Hudson for you if you like; that way you could stay home and work."

"I don't think Hudson even understands yet. Hudson! Sit. Down," Trey harshly admonished the toddler who was suddenly standing up in the front of the grocery cart, his arm outstretched towards the small, colorful bags of candy just out of his reach. "How did you even get out of there," Trey wondered as he gently pushed his son back down and buckled the safety strap around his belly.

Moments later the question was answered; Trey watched, astonished, as Hudson deftly opened the safety strap and started to stand. Trey picked Hudson up and fussed at him.

Mike chuckled in amazement. "Gonna have to watch that one; he's an escape artist."

"Yeah," Trey answered. "You know he broke his arm climbing out of his crib one night?"

"I heard about that from Bobby." Mike shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever have children. I'm not brave enough."

Trey laughed. "Yep; you have to be pretty gutsy and a little nuts to raise a child."

Bobby and Amy were out on the sidewalk putting decorations on her front door and steps when Trey and Mike pulled up to the curb.

"Looks great," Mike commented.

"Thanks," said Bobby. "My mom and I loved Halloween. I couldn't wait to go trick-or-treat with Lewis and the other kids from school. When I got older, I'd pass out candy to the kids in the apartment complex who'd come by. Even if she'd had a bad day, Mom always put on a great time for us kids that night," he said wistfully.

"Boppy, Nanny," Hudson exclaimed loudly from the backseat.

"Hi, Sweetie," Amy cooed as she took her grandson out of the car. "You need to come with me and see what Nanny got for you today." She held him in her arms and brushed past Trey, up the stairs and into the house before he could stop her.

He looked perplexedly at Bobby, who was now helping Mike get the bags of groceries out of the car.

"Your mother bought a costume for Hudson today."

Trey started to protest, but Bobby cut him off. "I tried to stop her, but you know how determined she gets. Besides, what's the harm?"

"I just…" Trey's voice trailed off and he looked away, grief filling his eyes again.

"I know," Bobby said softly, giving Trey a gentle nudge with his shoulder. "I know; your mom told me, and I'm sorry. But you can't deny her this; it's giving her such joy."

Trey looked quietly at his father then spoke softly after a few moments. "You're right; thank you for helping me keep the right perspective on things." He turned then, unlocking the door to his home and holding it open for Mike and Bobby.

The three men were standing in Trey's kitchen drinking beer and talking. The groceries had been put away, and a pizza was in the oven.

They heard the hard, fast footsteps coming down the hall towards the kitchen just before Hudson burst in on them, guns blazing, tiny voice yelling, "Stop! Peece! Bang! Bang!"

As Amy entered right behind Hudson, she saw each of the three older men grab their chests and stagger around in mock pain.

Trey groaned. "Oh, you got me! I'm hit!" He staggered over and sat in a chair, threw his head back, and died a most dramatic death.

Bobby and Mike followed suit, but Bobby fell onto the floor at Hudson's feet, groaning and moaning before laying still, his eyes closed. Mike slumped to the floor against the refrigerator.

Hudson stood, stunned, then looked at Bobby. "Boppy," the little voice whined. He fell to the floor and poked Bobby's face. "Boppy? Boppy, wake up!"

Bobby opened his eyes and looked up at Hudson. "I'm okay, little man," he reassured the child, using his pet name for him.

Bobby sat up and pulled Hudson onto his lap. "You were a good policeman. You got all the bad guys." He pointed at Mike and Trey, who were watching Hudson through half-closed eye lids from their respective "deaths".

"Bad guys," said Hudson. "Daddy bad guy."

Trey laughed and sat up. "Hey, Hudson. You look just like a policeman."

"Daddy," Hudson exclaimed. He scurried over and climbed up in his father's lap. "Nanny gave me," he said, pointing at Amy.

Amy blushed as she spoke. "Well, no one was doing anything about a costume for him, so I made a decision," she stated defensively. "I hope you don't mind."

"I like it," Trey said.

"Like Boppy," Hudson said, pointing at Bobby where he still sat on the floor. "Boppy peeceman."

"Yes," Trey agreed seriously. "Boppy is a policeman. Mike, is, too." Trey pointed at Mike.

"Mikey peeceman," Hudson questioned.

"Yep," said Mike, as he stood up. "I worked with Bobby." Mike still found it strange to be referring to him as "Bobby" instead of "Goren" after all these years.

"Wow," Hudson exclaimed. "Me, too!"

"So, is it okay if Hudson goes as a policeman for Halloween this year," Amy questioned from the doorway.

"I think it's perfect," Trey answered, giving her a smile.

Progress was going well on the Gala production. Studio rehearsals were underway for the various acts and performers. Not all the songs were from Broadway musicals; some were popular Christmas favorites peppered throughout to tie all the performances together. Tomorrow, the production team would start technical rehearsals on the theatre stage. Today, Amy was there with Trey, Bobby and Alex along with the directors and choreographer. They were watching the men from the cast of "South Pacific" do a run-through of "There is Nothing Like a Dame", a favorite showstopper from the currently sold out revival run of the musical.

When the performance was done, Amy and Bobby joined one of the directors and the stage manager on the stage. Soon they were immersed in the technical and logistical aspects of the number.

Trey and Alex took it all in from their seats in the audience. Alex propped her feet up on the seat in front of her, pulled her knees up and took a bag of Skittles out of her purse.

"You want some," she asked Trey, who was watching her with amusement on his handsome face.

"No, thanks," he said with a lopsided grin.

Just like Bobby's, Alex thought as she turned her attention back to the stage.

They sat in silence for a while, watching and listening to the goings-on on stage, Alex always aware of their surroundings and mindful of the people coming in and out of the theatre and on and off the stage.

"Do you think they've figured it out yet," Trey suddenly asked.

"Who figured out what," Alex asked distractedly. Her attention was focused on a young man who had just entered the theatre and was moving slowly through the seats several rows in front of her. When he stooped to pick up an empty soda can and toss it into a bag tied to his belt loop, Alex realized he was part of the janitorial staff. She partially turned her attention to Trey, while still keeping a watchful eye on the young man down front; he was unfamiliar to her and she thought he must be new to the maintenance crew.

"Mom and Bobby; I wonder if they've figured out they're in love," Trey said matter-of-factly.

Alex turned her gaze hard on Trey, then equally hard to the stage, where Bobby was standing next to Amy, his hand lightly on the small of her back, looking over her shoulder as she took notes on a clipboard while the stage manager talked. Alex studied their interaction more closely this time. She took in how Amy looked at Bobby, the way she glowed when he would give her a smile or a wink.

"Hmph," she said as she chewed her Skittles. After she had swallowed, she took a swig of her water before answering. "Amy knows, but Bobby…..he can be hard to read sometimes. I have had to hit him over the head with the obvious before. He can get so wrapped up inside his head that he becomes oblivious to the rest of the world."

"I don't think he's completely oblivious of Mom," Trey commented as Bobby took the clipboard from her and gestured her to precede him as they moved towards the wings.

"Does it bother you? Them falling for each other again," Alex asked him quietly.

"It did at first; but now that I've really gotten to know Bobby better, I think it's great. Besides, I don't think Mom ever stopped loving him."

"Why do you say that?" Alex was paying close attention to the janitor again. He was now only 3 rows away from them and he had been casting surreptitious glances at them every few feet. Alex was getting nervous.

"She's dated a lot of men in my lifetime, and had several serious relationships. She was even engaged twice. She never could go through with it, and I think it was because deep down inside, Mom was still in love with Bobby, and as wonderful and loving to her as those men were, they weren't Bobby, so it wasn't going to happen."

"Trey," Bobby suddenly called out from the stage.

Trey and Alex looked in his direction.

"We're done here. Can you meet us backstage?"

"Sure," answered Alex. She dropped her legs, grabbed her purse and stood. Trey rose from his seat also and they made their way down the row and into the side aisle. Once they reached the stage steps, Alex glanced over her shoulder. The young janitor had stopped what he was doing and was staring at them. She gave him a hard, cold stare in return and he frowned then returned to his work. Alex made a mental note of his appearance and followed Trey backstage.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Alone in a run-down apartment in a Brooklyn tenement, young male hands encased in latex move across an ancient typewriter. The fingers struggle to keep up with the pace of the thoughts running through the brain that controls them. He is careful not to misspell any words. Every line is re-typed several times, so that the typeface is strong and bold, but the typist must be careful that the paper does not get torn. He has to get it perfect; it is essential that this letter be absolutely perfect.

Once he is satisfied, he pulls the paper carefully from the carriage and sets it on the table next to the typewriter. Now, he must carefully and patiently type more copies of this letter. To use a copy machine puts him at risk of discovery. He can only be discovered when the time is right, and the time is not yet right.

He sighs, shifts on his chair, and types late into the night, letter after letter. His fingers sweat inside the latex gloves; he changes them several times, washing his hands in cool water and shaking them vigorously to keep them loose and limber. When he is done, each letter is folded precisely and slid into a plain white envelope. The envelopes have already been addressed, and once filled, each is sealed by swiping a wet rag carefully over the glue strip. He has used this rag before and knows it does not leave any fibers stuck to the glue. The letters are carefully stacked to be mailed later.

Before going to bed, he re-reads an article carefully cut from a newspaper. The item tells of a warehouse explosion weeks ago and reveals that the Staten Island police still have no suspects or new leads. He is pleased that his careful planning and meticulous attention to detail have protected him so far. He loves the feeling of power that comes with being invisible, yet dangerous.

As he lies in bed that night, he thinks back over how close he had gotten to them in the theatre that afternoon. Did the petite woman, the one named Alex, suspect something? He recalls the hard, cold gaze she had given him and shuddered slightly. He knew who she was; she worked with _him_, the Big Man, and the Big Man was now part of the problem, for the Big Man encouraged and supported _her_. As he drifted off to sleep, he smiled cruelly at how he could arrange for the Big Man to be close to the solution. Destroying the Big Man would make it easier to destroy _her_, and she was the source of all his grief and misery.

Halloween dawned as a rare, beautiful day in New York City. Rare in that October days are either very cold, or very windy, or even dank and wet. This day was none of those things. Instead, it was a "Chamber of Commerce postcard" kind of day: 65 degree weather, very soft, gentle breezes and low humidity topped off by an endless, cloudless blue sky. Bobby thought he detected just a nip of winter as he and Amy walked out of the theatre around noon. They were heading home early to prepare for Trick or Treaters and some Halloween fun.

"So, I'm staying at the house to pass out candy with Mom and Dad and you're going with Trey to the Edwards, correct," Amy was asking him.

"Yes, that is, if you don't mind," Bobby answered. "I mean, if you really want to go out to Long Island with us, you can."

"No, I don't mind. I did Halloween with Trey, Laura and Hudson out there last year. You need a turn. Besides, Alex is bringing her nephew and sister by, and Mike is really looking forward to scaring all the kids with my dad." She chuckled softly.

"Is he really dressing up as Leatherface," Bobby asked her, referring to the chain saw-wielding villain from "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" movie.

"Yep. Dad does it every year. Even has a chainsaw that he chases the older kids with."

"Has Mike decided what he wants to be? Last I asked, he was torn between the Headless Horseman or a zombie police officer."

They laughed as they got into the car and headed home.

Later that afternoon, Trey got Hudson dressed in his "peeceman" outfit. Bobby had pinned a junior detective badge on it, and showed Hudson a picture of himself in his uniform, explaining to the child that now he "really looked like Boppy." Hudson squealed with delight and clapped his hands. Pictures were taken, and Trey had Hudson practice Trick-or-Treating with Bobby before taking him out on the sidewalk to walk next door to Nana's (Amy's) house.

Trey rang the doorbell and stepped back to watch. Amy opened the door grinned and giggled when Hudson screamed "Ticker Teat!" and held out his plastic orange pumpkin. She oohed and aahed appropriately over his costume, took a few pictures and smiled indulgently as he examined the candy treats she had dropped into his container.

"M uh m's," Hudson exclaimed loudly as he held up the small bag of chocolate treats. "Eat," he demanded, shoving the bag at Trey.

"Later, buddy," Trey laughed. "We have to go to Mamaw and Papaw's next." Trey dropped the candy back into the plastic pumpkin.

"More candy," Hudson questioned as he looked up at his dad.

"Yep! More candy," Trey answered as he steered the child back down the steps and onto the pavement.

Hudson ran next door and clambered up the stone steps to Patty and AJ's brownstone, banging on the door and screaming "Mamaw! Papaw!"

The door opened and Patty exclaimed, "Oh, my! Papaw! The police are here!"

"No! Hudson," the boy cried as Trey caught up to him.

"Oh, Hudson," Patty sighed in relief. "You look just like a policeman."

AJ joined them at the door, camera in hand and began snapping photographs as Hudson stuck out his pumpkin and yelled, "Candy!"

"What?" Patty dragged the word out in several syllables, trying to encourage Hudson to ask correctly.

"That's not how you ask," Trey prompted from where he now crouched near his son. "What do you say?"

"Candy, PEEZE," chirped the child.

Everyone laughed and Trey prompted Hudson again. "What did you ask Nana?"

Hudson looked confused, then his face brightened and he hollered out, "Ticker Teat!"

Everyone laughed again and Hudson was rewarded with another small bag of candy in his plastic container. He immediately stuck his face down in the pumpkin, then stuck in his hand and pulled out a small red bag of Skittles©. "YAY!" was followed immediately by "Eat!"

"Not right now, Hudson," Trey said. "Tell Mamaw and Papaw 'thank you'."

"Tank ooo," said Hudson sadly. Trey picked him up and hugged him, then turned and went back down to the sidewalk, where Bobby was waiting for them. He had been taking pictures as well, and smiled and ruffled Hudson's blonde curls.

"You can eat those in the car on the way to Grandma's house," he told his grandson. This brought a smile to the child's face and relief to his father's. Trey mouthed his thanks to Bobby over his son's head and received a wink and nod in return. The two men made their way around the block to Bobby's car, stopping a few more times to allow Hudson to trick or treat at several of the neighbor's homes. They would go on to have a great time out on Long Island, with "Detective Hudson" being a hit with not only his grandparents, but their neighbors as well.

As the scene across the street played out, Dracula wove in and out of the gathering costumed crowd, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. At one point, he even crossed the street and passed right in front of Amy's home as she passed out candy, his costume affording him the proper anonymity for getting close to her.

His anger burned inside him as he watched her smile and interact with those who stopped at her door. She seemed so at ease, blissfully unaware of his presence. And that was also a bone of contention with him: she was unaware of him. She had always been unaware of him, and of those like him, instead choosing only to benefit those who didn't need benefitting.

He felt his anger begin to build, threatening to rise to the surface and bubble over. He held himself in check, however, instead moving down to the end of the block, stopping only to slyly deposit a large stack of plain, white envelopes into the mailbox before he melted into the costume crowd once more, allowing himself to be swept up in the revelry of the evening and disappearing from view.

A few days later, Amy was in her bedroom, readying for bed, when she noticed the rectangular package sitting on her pillow. It was a thin, flat rectangle and reminded her of a jeweler's necklace box. The box was wrapped in beautiful gold matte paper and bound with a wide, sheer burgundy ribbon which encircled the box and topped it with an exquisite bow.

She picked it up and studied it carefully from all sides, looking for a card. She shook it gently, and looked curiously around her room, even sticking her head out the door to glance up and down the hall, wondering if the deliverer of the package was nearby. Realizing she was all alone, she cocked her head and "Humphed" as she returned to her room, closing the door softly behind her.

Amy sank down onto the bed and very carefully unwrapped the package. It _was_ a jeweler's box, and her hands shook slightly as her heart began to race. She slowly lifted the lid of the box and looked down at…..an iPod?

O-kaaayy, she wondered as she set the box on her lap and stared. The iPod was gracefully nestled inside, and it was obvious it had been used before being placed in the box. There were earbuds and a charger cord as well. Amy took the device out and looked at it in confusion. It had to have been custom-designed for her, as it was encased in maroon. She stared at it, then looked back in the box.

In the space beneath the iPod, there was a small envelope. She recognized the bold handwriting that had printed her name across it: Bobby's. She exhaled loudly and smiled in relief; her imagination had been starting to run away from her, and she was afraid this was another creepy message from whoever had been sending those anonymous, threatening letters.

She dropped the iPod onto the bed and took the envelope from the box. She slid the small card out and read the very neat, handwriting.

_I thought my musical lady might enjoy _

_ taking a musical journey with me._

_ Bobby_

She smiled sweetly then, and picked the iPod back up, thumbing the power button. There on the screen were several icons, including a rose with the words 'musical journey' underneath it. Amy noticed the size of the file was quite large, so she forced herself to clean up the mess from opening her present and get herself completely ready for bed before plugging in and inserting the earbuds and opening the icon.

It was a list of songs, but the names listed were unfamiliar. Titles like "Our First Dance", and "Our First Date" immediately brought songs to mind and a smile to her face, but some of the others were a mystery to her. Settling back into the pillows on her bed, she pressed "play", closed her eyes and time travelled.

"Our First Dance" turned out to be "Lady", by Kenny Rogers, the song that was playing in the USO when Bobby first asked her to dance. Amy realized that Bobby had purposely replaced each song's title with a more meaningful phrase. She smiled dreamily and sang along softly, her head and body moving subtly as she remembered. She giggled when the music changed to Joan Jett's "I Love Rock N Roll" and jammed out where she lay on the bed. That song was followed by two more upbeat songs that had played that night at the USO, all popular hits from that time period. Tears welled in her eyes when she heard Julie Andrews sing, "I Could Have Danced All Night" from "My Fair Lady"; it was as if Bobby was peering into her soul with that song, for she had felt exactly that way for several days after they first met. She laughed riotously when a medley from the movie "Airplane" filled her head; seeing that movie had been their first date, and the beginning of something truly amazing.

Amy had to smile at his cleverness. Hall and Oates' "Kiss is on My List" and "Don't You Want Me Baby" by Human League referred to her reluctance to kiss him early on in their relationship. "I Didn't Get to Sleep at All" was obviously how he, and she, felt after they finally made love up in the hills the weekend before she left for the states. She felt the sadness of their breakup as she listened to "Breaking Up is Hard to Do" and "(I Don't Want to Live if Living is) Without You".

Several songs later, she was stunned to hear her own voice. She was singing "Someone to Watch Over Me", and Amy realized it was from that night at Jim Brickman's concert. Bobby had somehow found out that the concert had been recorded and included both this song and "Que Sera, Sera," which she had encouraged the audience to sing along with her.

Song after song filled her ears, her mind, her soul; 26 songs in all; every song carefully chosen for its meaning; the order of songs truly reflective of the past twenty-five years of Bobby's life. It really was his musical journey, and she was deeply touched that he had gone to so much effort just for her.

Each song spoke volumes; some expressed happiness, some longing, some hope; all expressed the depth of his feelings for her. The final three songs brought her to tears. They were songs of love, but full of hope for the future. He was clearly declaring his love for her and telling her outright through song what he was hesitant to tell her in person. The last song, "Let Me Be There," sung by Olivia Newton-John, was clearly putting the ball in her court.

Amy turned off the iPod and placed it gently on the nightstand. She turned off the lamp, and settled in to bed, curling up on her side and pulling the sheets up over her body. Her mind remained active for a long time, replaying the music, searching her heart, searching her soul, praying for answers.

_I was asked to include the entire play list, including the artist and date of the recordings, that "Bobby" chose for Amy's iPod. I had a lot of fun putting myself inside "Bobby's brain" while I researched._

Lady

Kenny Rogers

1981

I Love Rock N Roll

Joan Jett

1982

Celebration

Kool and the Gang

1981

You Make Me Wanna Shout

Otis Day & the Knights

1978

Animal House version

I Could Have Danced All Night

Julie Andrews

1964

My Fair Lady Original Broadway recording

Call Me

Blondie

1980

Medley of songs from "Airplane"

various

1980

Kiss is on My List

Hall & Oates

1981

Don't You Want Me

Human League

1980

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Queen

1980

Endless Love

Diana Ross and Lionel Richie

1981

(Last Night) I Didn't Get to Sleep at All

5th Dimension

1971

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

Neil Sedaka

1971

re-done slow version

(How Do I Live if Living is) Without You

Nilsson

1971

I Will Always Love You

Dolly Parton

1973

Bad Boys, Bad Boys

Inner Circle

1987

Theme from "Cops"

Drive

Cars

1984

Prelude in F# Major

Chopin

1839

The Homecoming

Hagood Hardy

1975

Live performance by Jim Brickman

Someone to Watch Over Me

Cole Porter

1926

Amy's performance with Jim Brickman

Que Sera, Sera

Livingston & Evans

1956

Sung by Doris Day/ The Man Who Knew Too Much

I Got Lost in Her Arms

Irving Berlin

1946

Fly Me to the Moon

Bart Howard

1954

Frank Sinatra 1964 recording

For Once in My Life

R. Miller & O. Murden

1967

Frank Sinatra 1969 recording

At Last

M. Gordon & H. Warren

1941

Etta James 1961 recording

Let Me Be There

Olivia Newton-John

1973


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

AJ called to Bobby and waved. Both men were out collecting the morning paper from their respective front stoops. Bobby waved back, then flipped open the paper. He preferred the New York Times, but Amy loved The Post, so that was what he held in his hand. He looked down at the cover and blanched.

"Something wrong," AJ asked.

"I, uh…" was all Bobby could say as he gestured at the paper in his hand.

AJ flipped open his paper and looked at the front page. "Oh….my…God…."

Alex Eames sleepily stretched her arm out the door of her house and fished around for the paper. Just as she grabbed it, she heard her cell phone ringing from the kitchen. She snatched up the paper, pushed the door closed with her foot and padded back into the kitchen. She barely managed to answer the phone before it went to voice mail.

"Eames," she said distractedly while opening her paper.

"Have you seen the morning papers," Mike Logan's deep voice spoke urgently into her ear.

"I'm opening mine right now," she answered. "Good God," she exclaimed as she caught a glimpse of the front page.

Captain Daniel Ross lost his appetite as he sat in a café near One Police Plaza and gazed at the front page of The Times.

About an hour later, Bobby quietly opened the door to Amy's bedroom and peered in. She was peacefully asleep and Bobby thought she looked beautiful all curled up on her side under the covers. He noticed the iPod sitting on her nightstand and smiled. He hated to wake her up early on a Saturday, but she needed to know. He had already talked with Trey, and Mike would be there as soon as he could. Mike had relayed his conversation with Alex, letting Bobby know that Alex was also on her way to the Wainwright's.

He stepped inside and softly shut the door. As he made his way to her bedside, several ideas wrestled inside him. Part of him wanted to strip down to his undershirt and boxers and slip into bed beside her, pull her close to him and join her in sleep. Part of him wanted to do more to her than just sleep. And all of him regretted the real purpose of his creeping into her bedroom.

Sitting gently on the edge of her bed, he dropped the paper on the floor and leaned over her. Pushing her hair aside, he bent his head and nuzzled her neck. She stretched and purred, and he moved his lips to her jaw line, raining tiny kisses along the way. She surprised him when she slowly pulled her arm back and grabbed the back of his neck with her hand. Simultaneously, she rolled onto her back, pulling his mouth into full contact with hers, where she proceeded to kiss him so thoroughly, fireworks exploded inside his head and his toes curled.

It took every ounce of his strength to push himself back from her and look down into her stormy blue eyes.

She laughed huskily, and Bobby's heart skipped a beat as he took in her now tousled hair and passion swollen lips.

"Did you hear me come in," Bobby asked, looking at her askance.

She laughed again, bit her lower lip and nodded.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of being woken like this," she asked, running her hands down the front of his shirt.

His resolve was at the breaking point and if her hands went any lower, he was afraid he would lose all control and he needed every bit of it right now. Pushing hard against the pillows, he forced himself to sit upright, removing her hands from him in the process.

He picked up the iPod and held it for her to see. She smiled.

"Thank you," she said tenderly. "I love it. The songs you put together…" she sighed and stretched before she continued. "I really enjoyed your musical journey." She touched his cheek gently.

"You're welcome," he smiled tenderly in return, leaning into the warmth of her palm against his skin. He reluctantly moved away and placed the iPod back on the nightstand.

"There's something you need to see," he said ominously. He reached down for the paper at his feet as Amy sat up.

Bobby handed her the newspaper; he said nothing, but watched for her reaction as she looked down at the front page.

"Oh, my God," she exclaimed. "Bobby! What are we going to do?"

"I don't know, Amy. I honestly don't know."

An hour later, Amy, Bobby, Trey, Mike and Alex, along with Patty and AJ were sitting around Amy's dining room table. Mrs. Mitchell and AJ had cooked breakfast for the group and they had forced themselves to eat as they discussed the current state of things. Several newspapers were scattered down the middle of the table. Several phone calls had been received during breakfast; both the producer and the director had received threatening letters in their morning mail, as had the theatre manager.

"Amy, dear," Patty said, her hand clasped firmly over her daughter's as she spoke; her voice was soft, but her conviction was firm. "I know you don't like this idea, but I really think you should cancel the gala awards show in light of all this."

Amy shook her head vehemently. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying; she had hardly been able to eat, and the half-cup of coffee she had forced herself to drink now roiled angrily in her stomach. She pulled her hand free of her mother's and clasped both firmly in her lap as she boldly met Bobby's gaze across the table.

"No," she averred. "I refuse to let the lunatic ravings of a madman force me to cancel. Too many people depend on that gala."

The "lunatic ravings" she referred to were in all three major papers this morning. Their mystery writer was escalating, according to Mike, Alex and Bobby, and Amy feared they were correct. To send letters to her, Trey, Bobby and Samantha was one thing, but to openly threaten the lives of so many so publicly was another thing entirely.

"Is there any way you could have enough police protection at the theatre and the surrounding area on the 9th," AJ asked. December 9th was the date of the gala.

"Well, I've already talked to Captain Ross this morning," Mike said. "There's a meeting planned for 11. The police chief is going to be there, as well as the heads of the various departments, and the station chiefs. I suggested having the Port Authority involved as well, and will be there to coordinate everything with our needs."

"I plan on going to the theatre this morning with Trey and Marcus Johansson, the theatre manager," stated Bobby. "We're going to go over every inch of the building again as well as the tunnels below. I want to make sure every nook and cranny someone could hide themselves or a bomb in is clearly marked on the blueprints. Russ Ortega, from the City, will be there to walk the tunnels with us."

Alex spoke next. She had been in contact with the three female officers who were providing security for Christy and Hudson. All three would be spending the day at the Wainwright's; Alex would be at the office with Amy, along with all the other undercovers who had been working at the office at various times. From now until the gala, security was now going to be an even higher priority.

Mrs. Mitchell and her husband were going to move into the guest suite in Amy's house. Mike would be moving into the guest suite on the second floor of Trey's home, and Alex into Patty and AJ's.

It was all too much. Amy's brain was becoming overloaded. Her pulse was racing and she was finding it hard to breath; her fingers and toes were starting to tingle, fresh tears beginning to blur her vision. She pushed away from the table and half-ran, half-stumbled towards the kitchen door. A roar began in her ears, deafening her as it rose in volume, shutting out Bobby's voice as he called out to her with concern. The last thing she remembered was pushing open the swinging door before everything went black.

Amy came to in the emergency room. She was hooked up to an IV and Bobby was asleep in the chair next to her, his long legs taking up most of the rest of the small, fabric enclosed cubicle she found herself in.

She shifted in the bed, moaning slightly. Bobby immediately sprang out of the chair, wide awake, eyes full of concern. He grabbed her hand and gently caressed her shoulder as he studied her carefully.

"Wha…what happened," she asked.

"You passed out on your way into the kitchen. The doctor who examined you thinks you were having an anxiety attack, and when you jumped up and ran towards the kitchen, it was too much and your body shut down, causing you to pass out," Bobby said softly. He smiled at her gently. "Do you want something to drink? You were also pretty dehydrated."

"I'm sorry," Amy apologized, squeezing his hand. "I want to go home. When will they let me go home? What time is it?"

"The doctor really wants you to stay overnight," Bobby said, purposely ignoring her last question and gently pushing her back down onto the bed as she tried to sit all the way up.

The room spun briefly then, and Amy was glad to lay back and close her eyes until it stopped.

"Are you okay," Bobby asked. He had noticed how pale her face had just gotten, as well as her rapid pulse under his fingers where they gently rested on her wrist.

"I'm fine," Amy lied. "I want to go home. I can't stay here." She put her hand on her forehead as she began to think of everything that needed to get done. There was barely a month left before the gala and she was still not halfway through the to-do list for the silent auction, plus the three big gallery events coming up and two weddings for friends she had agreed to help cater.

"Whoa, slow down," Bobby said. "Amy….Amy!"

Amy turned and stared blindly at Bobby, slowly realizing that she had been ranting out loud about everything that needed to be done, and was getting herself all worked up again.

A nurse poked her head through the curtain just then.

"Oh, I see you've decided to rejoin the land of the living," she commented, coming around to the side of Amy's bed to check the IV. Next, she took Amy's wrist and began to count her pulse. Her eyebrows rose in silent question as she studied Amy's face, taking in the flushed skin and the frantic look in Amy's eyes.

"Can I speak with you, please," the nurse asked Bobby, indicating the two should step outside Amy's curtained area.

"Sure," Bobby agreed. He turned back to Amy and smiled gently. "I'll be right back," he said softly, bending down to kiss her forehead and squeezing her hand.

"Dr. Andersen said not to let her get worked up," the nurse reminded him pointedly once they were out of earshot.

"I'm trying. She was confused as to where she was, then got upset when she asked to go home and I told her the doctor wanted her to stay overnight. I was trying to calm her back down when you came in."

"Did you tell her who the doctor is," the nurse asked next. Amy's ER doctor was her long-time good friend, Dr. Jack Andersen. Jack had married Amy's best friend Susan 20 years ago.

"Not yet; we hadn't gotten that far," Bobby answered.

"You go talk to her some more; I'll let Dr. Andersen know she's awake. If she gets too upset before he gets to her, I have a standing order for more Ativan."

"Thanks," Bobby said gratefully.

Returning to Amy, Bobby pulled the chair up next to her, and took her hand as he sat down.

"What did she say? Can I go home?"

"No." Bobby pressed a finger to her lips and pressed on over her protest. "Your doctor right now is Jack Andersen and he wants you to stay until tomorrow," Bobby stated firmly.

"You gave us all quite a scare," he continued, moving his hand to caress her cheek. "If I hadn't already gotten up to follow you, I wouldn't have caught you and you'd be in much worse shape."

Amy shuddered as the thought hit her that she would have slammed into the countertop or landed hard on the floor if Bobby hadn't caught her in time.

"Thank you," she said softly. "But…but, how did I end up here?"

"We couldn't get you to come to. We tried cool water, propping your feet up, ammonia on a cotton ball; but you were out cold. So cold it scared me. Your pulse was so weak, I knew we had to call an ambulance. We've been here for five hours now. You briefly came to not long after getting here, but were so agitated and upset, Dr. Andersen had to sedate you in order to be able to treat you."

Bobby carefully left out the part about how terrified he was to see her like that; it was only by his intense persuasion that Amy was headed for a private room on an exclusive floor and not the psychiatric ward. He had seen several suspects fall apart like Amy had, all of whom had been diagnosed with having a nervous breakdown. Bobby gave Dr. Andersen an extremely edited version of what had been going on in their lives the past month, and finally got the man to relent and diagnose Amy with extreme exhaustion and dehydration instead.

"Dr. Andersen," Amy asked. "Dr. _Jack_ Andersen, Dr. Andersen?"

"That's me," said a deep masculine voice from just outside the curtain. Dr. Andersen slipped inside and smiled broadly at Amy. He had her chart with him, and stepped around to the side of the bed, stooping to kiss Amy's cheek before checking her pulse.

"Jack," Amy said warmly. "It's been too long."

"Way too long," Jack agreed. "Although, this is _not_ how I wanted to see you again."

"I know." Amy pouted slightly. "Please let me go home. I promise to be a good girl," she begged.

Bobby and Jack both laughed.

"No," the two men said together firmly.

"Amy, you came in here really dehydrated and very on edge. You look exhausted, and Bobby tells me you've been threatened? I can't let you go home until you're more stable," Jack insisted. "Bobby agrees with me. He tells me you haven't been sleeping well, or eating well."

He caught the "stink eye" look that Amy shot Bobby and smiled to himself. _Well, well, well. The strong-headed lady has finally met her match. Wait until I tell Susan that Amy and Bobby are back together again._

Jack had carefully studied Bobby when he first met him right after treating Amy; he quickly deduced that Bobby was Trey's father and the man Susan referred to as Amy's huge mistake. She had told Jack about Amy and Bobby not long after Jack had started dating Susan when he had been curious about her best friend being a single mother. He liked Bobby instantly, and was pleased at how much Bobby appeared to genuinely care for and be concerned about his wife's best friend. Normally, Jack would insist that someone in Amy's condition stay more than just one night, but he knew from Bobby's behavior, and his knowledge of Amy's parents, that Amy would be in good hands and well-cared for once she got home.

Amy stared straight ahead and said nothing. She was angry at these two for ganging up against her, even though she knew they were right. She hadn't been sleeping well, and as for eating….

"I insist that you at least stay until noon tomorrow. I want to get plenty of fluids into you as well as give you some medication to help you sleep. I'll re-evaluate you tomorrow and if you're calmer and rested, I'll let you go home. But," and he stressed the word but, "you have to do a better job of eating and drink plenty of water. Bobby has already promised he'll personally see to it that you take the sleeping pills every night, and that you slow down. You have plenty of great staff to cover for you; let them do what you pay them to do," Jack told her sternly.

He patted her on the leg, shook Bobby's hand and left.

A nurse came in a few minutes later and pulled the curtain back.

"Your room is ready," she said, as she began to unplug the various leads and wires that were connected to Amy. "You won't need these upstairs, so I'll just take care of unhooking all this stuff and we'll be out of here." She deftly peeled leads off Amy's chest, removed the blood pressure cuff from her arm and carefully placed the IV bag on the bed next to Amy.

Two orderlies came in and began to wheel the bed towards the elevator. Bobby quickly gathered up their belongings and followed.

Amy's parents came soon after, allowing Bobby to get to the theatre. Patty and AJ fussed and fretted dutifully over Amy, who was very unhappily trying to be a good patient. She forced herself to drink plenty of juice and water, and even allowed the nurse to administer another light dose of Ativan into her IV.

As the medicine worked its magic and Amy began to relax, she had to admit to herself that she had been neglecting her health and was overly worried about the threats that had been made towards her and her family. She was shaken to her very core that morning to see such an explicit threat published on the front page of every major newspaper in New York. The writing, or "manifesto" as the papers referred to it, spelled out exactly what kind of bomb the author was planning on using, how "he" would detonate it, and just exactly how much damage and loss of life he hoped would be done.

Inside, she was a mess. All her life, she had held things in, afraid to disappoint anyone should they find out that she really didn't have everything all together. She hated herself for being scared, she hated herself for not being in control, and she hated herself for being in the hospital. Bobby had told her a while back that she needed to let go and allow others to bear some of these burdens for her and with her. She knew he meant that he wanted that role, and gradually, she was allowing him to do more of that. It was wonderful to have someone sharing the load with her.

Amy began to cry.

Patty looked up from the book she was reading.

"Amy, what's wrong?" She got up and handed Amy a box of tissues.

"I'm so sorry," Amy said between sobs.

"Amy! For what," Patty asked as she sat down on the side of the bed.

"For getting so worked up it made me sick. For not telling you and Dad how I was feeling or asking you for help. For shutting everyone out and pretending nothing was wrong." She hung her head and cried harder.

Patty hugged her daughter to her and held her until her tears were gone.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

True to his word, Dr. Andersen let Amy go home the next day. She felt better than she had in a while, and had to admit she had not been taking very good care of herself. She promised Jack she would call Susan that afternoon; she also promised to do better about eating, drinking plenty of water and getting more sleep. Patty, AJ and Bobby also assured the doctor that they would do their part as well.

Amy was surprised when Bobby insisted that she move into his apartment to continue recuperating. She looked at her parents.

"Did you three plan this," she asked.

"Bobby offered, and we couldn't object," AJ answered. The four of them were being driven home from the hospital by private car.

Amy sighed. She realized it would be pointless to argue with the three of them since it was obvious their minds were made up. _ I HATE not being in control_, she thought.

She needn't have worried. Bobby took excellent care of her. After settling her on the couch in his living room with pillows, a blanket, newspaper, books and a Dr Pepper, he went over to her house and gathered up the things she requested as well as a few other things he spotted that she might need. She was deeply touched at the attention he paid to her; it was sincere, not overwrought or anxious, but gentle and real.

He cooked for her that night, and after dinner they settled in on the couch to watch a movie. It was a corny, cheese ball movie from the '80's, but they discovered that not only did they both secretly really like the movie, both would find themselves having to stop and watch it every time it was on. They quoted lines back and forth, talked to the characters, laughed and had a great time.

At 10 pm, Bobby insisted Amy go to bed. Earlier, he had changed the bed linens and tidied up his bedroom. They may be good friends, even dating, but he didn't think she'd care to see his shoes by the bed, or his dirty clothing draped over the back of the chair in the corner. He'd also wiped down the bathroom counter and put out fresh towels as well as her toiletries.

Bobby was sitting on the bed, shoes off, shirt un-tucked and looking very sexy when Amy emerged from the bathroom. She was wearing her favorite, very large, very comfy nightshirt and was wrapped in her tattered pink terry robe. She felt very un-sexy.

"What are you doing in here," she asked, unconsciously pulling the robe tighter around her.

He held up his hands. One held a glass of water, the other, a bottle of medicine.

"Doing my job," he stated plainly. "I have to make sure you take your medicine. I promised the doctor I would."

"Jack can go to hell," Amy stated emphatically. "I do NOT need sleeping pills."

"Amy, it's only for a week," Bobby answered firmly, but gently. "Come here."

Begrudgingly, Amy went to Bobby and took the glass of water from him. He opened the bottle and placed one of the tiny, white pills in her hand. He looked up at her, eyebrows raised in mock sternness.

Amy scowled at him as she took the pill. "This tiny pill is supposed to give me a good night's sleep? Yeah, right."

Bobby took the glass from her as he stood up. He placed it on the nightstand, then turned away from her and pulled back the covers. He gestured for Amy to get in. He took her robe from her and pulled the sheet up over her.

"What? You're tucking me in," she questioned him.

Bobby said nothing, but simply smiled as he placed her robe over the chair near her side of the bed, then moved around to the other side. He sat on the bed, on top of the covers, and slid over into the middle of the bed. He lay down on his back, stretched out his arm and pulled her close. Amy's head settled on his shoulder with one of Bobby's arms under her neck, his hand on the small of her back; the other arm was gently across her stomach, his hand absent-mindedly rubbing her upper arm.

"Now, how's this?"

It was absolutely perfect, she thought. "Nice," she sighed instead.

Bobby kissed her forehead. She turned her face upward and kissed him back softly on his mouth.

"Thank you," she said as she re-settled herself against him.

"You're welcome."

Amy turned slightly, so that the back of her head was on his shoulder, and both her arms were free. Bobby wrapped his arms around her and splayed his hands across her stomach. Amy rested her hands on his, and their fingers began to flirt and play.

A few quiet moments passed before Amy spoke.

"Are you scared?"

Her voice was so soft, Bobby barely heard it, and the question caught him off-guard.

"About what?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "The guy threatening the show with bombs, writing crazy stuff about the Foundation being unfair and me being racist." She yawned.

Bobby felt her body began to relax as the medicine slowly started to work its way into her system and take effect. He chose his words carefully.

"Some. I wouldn't be a good cop if I didn't get scared." He hugged her briefly and kissed the top of her head again. "I've learned to use that fear to help me. It makes me wary, keeps me sharp, heightens my senses and causes me to become more alert, more aware. And more than a few times, early in my career, fear kept me alive."

Amy yawned again and answered more slowly as the medicine began to carry her away. "I'm scared, Bobby. Really scared. I don't want anything to happen to me, or Trey, or to the show, or to you, or anybody. That man scares me." She began to sound child-like and slurred the more the medicine took effect.

She wrapped her arms around his and pulled them tightly around her. "You don't scare me, Bobby. I know you'll keep me safe." She yawned again, this time longer. She was nearly limp in his arms and her words were becoming more and more unintelligible. "Don't leave me….."

Her head flopped over towards his chest and settled there. Her body grew still and heavy with sleep.

Bobby lay there a long time, holding Amy as she slept, thinking about what she had said and how it was affecting him. Could he keep her safe? Could he protect everyone like she hoped he would?

Several days later, Amy was feeling better than she had in ages and had to admit that the sleeping pills were working. She loved being spoiled by Bobby. The man brought her breakfast in bed every morning, sometimes joining her, and even set things up so that she could do a lot of work from either his apartment or her townhome. When she did need to get out, he always took her, watchful and wary, but never hovering or smothering.

Their evenings were filled with long, intimate talks at his apartment, curled up together in his bed. They talked about everything and nothing; discussed work and family, shared stories about their years apart, looked through more of Amy's photo albums. And every night at ten, Amy took her sleeping pill and fell asleep, safe and secure in Bobby's arms.

The night she brought him the scrapbook she had made about him for Trey touched him deeply. It was a beautifully made book, filled with the pictures from their time together in Germany, plus pictures and newspaper articles of his career with the NYPD. Her father had gotten her copies of various articles and notices of Bobby's military career and even a few photos of him with other CID officers, men and women he hadn't seen in years. He was moved by the love and care she put into making sure Trey would know as much of his father's story as possible.

"Thank you," he told her softly and sincerely as he closed the album.

He put it aside on the nightstand and turned back to gaze at her. He pushed her hair away from her face with the palm of his hand, spreading his fingers as he did and cupping her head gently in his hand. He continued to gaze at her.

Amy saw gratitude and admiration in his eyes, and something more. Her insides flipped at the intensity of those brown eyes studying her. When he moved in closer, she closed her eyes and held her breath. Would he kiss her? How she had been longing for his kiss, the caress of his lips against hers, but he had been mindful of her condition and her fragile emotional state all week. She felt the mattress shift slightly under his weight as he continued to move closer.

Finally, his lips were on hers. Those soft, full, wonderful lips that promised to reveal all the secrets of the universe and more to her. She sighed and moved towards him, pressing firmly, sinking into the warmth of his mouth. He gently pushed her down on the mattress, then pulled back, looked at her, and smiled.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured softly.

"No, I'm not," she answered, scrunching up her face.

"Oh, you are," he assured her softly. "More than you know."

He lowered his head and kissed her again, long and tender. The kissed deepened, and Amy felt warm all over. She melted into the mattress beneath him as he took his time with the kiss. He made no move to touch her, except to stroke her hair. Finally, he pulled away slightly, settling her into his shoulder, his hand resting softly yet protectively on her side.

Amy curled up against him. She felt safe and beautiful, and something else. She searched her heart as her hand unconsciously traced circles on his chest. Loved. That was it. She felt loved. She stretched and sighed, settled herself deeply against him, into him, and, for the first time in a long time, fell deeply asleep, without medication.

Bobby felt all the changes her body went through as it lay against his. He felt it tense, relax, shift; he felt her sigh, and most especially, he felt her fingers. It was agonizingly painful for him to resist the urge to act on the intense desire her fingers were building inside him. He struggled to keep his breathing slow and even then noticed the movement had stopped and she was asleep. He pulled her even closer to him and held her in his arms, as the realization that she was asleep without medication hit him hard. It filled him with sadness to realize that she no longer needed it, or him; she was getting better.

Once he was sure she was sound asleep, he did as he had done every night for the past five days: slipped out of bed, covered her up, and went to take a cold shower. And afterwards, he went downstairs and joined Trey for their regular evening drink.

The next morning, Amy declared that she felt up to a full day in the office. She felt better than she had in a very long time, and said as much to Bobby over breakfast in his kitchen. She also wanted to go to the theatre and check on progress there.

Several days earlier, the entire cast and crew had asked that she, Bobby and Trey be present for a production meeting. There, they informed her that they had decided, as a unanimous group, that the show would go on. They refused to be threatened, insisting that they would take every care and precaution recommended by the NYPD and the FBI to keep themselves and the production safe. Amy was moved to tears when the director stated emphatically that if they cancelled the show, it would be like an admission of guilt and would give the mystery letter writer an easy victory. He said they were refusing to go down without a fight.

Three of the cast members spoke from the heart and shared with everyone that the only reason they were here today was because the Wainwright Foundation had given a grant to their after school program. The program had tutored them, offered homework assistance and a safe haven, but more than that, it had taught them music, dance and acting, opening a world to them that they never knew existed. One said he owed his very life to Amy and the Wainwright Foundation, as he had resisted pressure to hang with his older brother's gang and go to drama class, thereby avoiding a drive-by shooting that took the life of his brother and his best friend. There was no way he was going to let some "punk" blow that chance for another kid like he had been.

Now, with only three weeks to go, Amy was desperate to visit the theatre and let them know that she was doing much better, and eager for opening night.

Samantha met them at the door to Amy's office, a pile of phone messages in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. Bobby kissed Amy on the cheek and moved off down the hall to his office, leaving the two ladies alone.

Samantha's eyebrows rose questioningly as Bobby turned and walked off. Amy shot her a look that clearly said "shut up", and entered her office to the sound of Sam's soft giggles.

"I see you two are doing well," she said, very pointedly.

Amy said nothing, but looked pointedly back the other woman. She knew exactly what Sam meant, but did not feel like sharing anything with anyone just yet.

"So, where are we," Amy said as she sat down at her desk and got down to business.

Everyone was glad to see Amy back in the office and looking refreshed. Her office seemed as though it had a revolving door as employee after employee came by to express their feelings. Around noon, Mike shut the door and leaned against it, effectively shutting out the rest of the office.

"Thought you could use a security guard," he chuckled.

"Thanks, Mike," Amy responded gratefully. "Maybe you should stand outside the door and look tough. You know, like a bouncer at a club?"

"No one gets in who isn't on the list?" They laughed in agreement.

"What are you doing for lunch," Mike asked suddenly. "You need to eat and you and I haven't sat down and had a serious conversation about the security that's been hired for the gala show and how I think the day of the gala should be handled."

Amy looked at him curiously.

"Bobby put me in charge of all the minutiae, and Alex and Captain Ross think we should have undercovers present, so she and I have been working with Ross to get it all planned out." He held up a fat file folder.

"Oh! Well, in that case, I would love to have a working lunch with you. Do you want to get out of here, lock ourselves in the conference room or just hole up here?"

"Some place where folks won't keep coming in to tell you they're glad you're back would be nice."

"I agree," Amy said, rising and grabbing her coat and purse. "If one more person comes in here and says they are glad I'm back and how good I look, I think I'll scream! We do need to let Bobby know on our way out."

"He knows. He's the one who suggested I spirit you away from here for lunch. Says we're to take all the time we need for me to bring you up to speed. Samantha and Trey have things under control here, and he'll be spending his afternoon at the theatre."

Amy's phone beeped just then, and she pulled it out of the front of her purse and glanced at. It was a text from Bobby, telling her to enjoy her lunch with Mike and that he would see her after his meeting at the theatre. Part of her was disappointed that he didn't tell her in person, and part of her was annoyed that Bobby was making plans for her without her knowledge.

"Good timing," Amy said, holding up her cell. "That was Bobby, telling me what you just said."

"Let's go, then," Mike said, holding her office door open for her and following her down the hall towards the elevator. He could tell she was surprised at his invitation and that she was struggling to hide her anger. He figured it was towards Bobby for making plans for her. _I wonder if Bobby knows just how p o'd she is at him right now_, he thought. _Interesting._

Lunch with Mike was eye-opening and productive. Amy had no idea how much work was being done to secure the City Center and protect the cast, crew and audience. Fifty undercover officers were lined up for the event. Some even had previous theatre experience and were already working with the stage crew, insuring that they would blend in seamlessly the night of the performance. Others were working as ticket takers and ushers and some would be in uniform as the "regular" security one would expect at such an event.

As is standard practice in post 9-11 New York, all bags would be checked and guests would have to pass through security. However, due to the very public bomb threat, all attendees would have to go through a metal detector and the K-9 unit would be out in full force, sniffing for drugs, guns and explosives.

"I'm impressed," Amy said, leaning back in her chair. "You've been most thorough. I can't think of anything you've missed right now."

"Thank you," Mike answered. "Everyone working security has had to go through a background check, even the NYPD and Port Authority folks. The regular City Center security force has had special training just for this event. They've all been briefed on what to look out for and how to stay low-key and calm. Everyone, including the FBI agents who will be present, has met everyone else. All have been given an iPhone with a file containing pictures of everyone working security, working backstage, performing in the show and playing in the orchestra. Right now, we're working on a set of computers that will allow ticket takers to scan the bar code on each ticket and match the name of the ticket holder to that person's ID. The only problem with that will be the tickets that have been bought by businesses as gifts for clients and employees. No telling who will end up with those tickets. Eames is working on that and hopefully she and Ross will have come up with a solution."

Amy was overwhelmed again and struggled to stay calm.

"Are you alright," Mike asked, concern etched on his rugged face.

"I'm…I think so," Amy said. She inhaled deeply, held it for a few seconds then exhaled slowly. "I'm trying not to panic, I really am, but this…this is just….there's just so much I've never had to think about or worry about before."

Mike reached out and covered her hand with his. He looked straight in her eyes.

"Amy, that's what we're here for," he stated firmly. "Bobby, Eames and me; it's our job to keep everybody safe. You just let us do our job and focus on everything else." He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Thanks, Mike. I needed to hear that."

Shortly after returning to her office, Bobby appeared in her doorway.

"Hi."

Amy looked up, surprised. "Hi," she said, her face lighting up as she took in the sight of him filling up the doorframe.

"You got a minute?"

"Sure. Come on in." Amy rose and moved around her desk.

"This came while you and Mike were at lunch," he said, handing her an envelope. If he knew its contents, he wasn't letting on; his face was giving nothing away.

Amy looked at him curiously, then at the envelope. She took it from him, opened it, and pulled out two tickets and a folded note.

"South Pacific," Amy questioned.

"Read the note," Bobby encouraged.

She opened the thick creamy paper and read. "Amy, please use the enclosed tickets to tonight's performance to get your mind off all the craziness of the past few days. Connerly is playing the lead tonight, and would love to see you after the show. Love, Susan."

"You feel like going?"

Amy looked at him. "Hmmm….I don't know…" She turned from him, smiling slyly. If he wanted her to go with him, he needed to ask her properly.

Bobby caught the sly smile that was beginning as she turned away from him, and chuckled inwardly. If she was up to teasing him and playing coy, she was definitely feeling better. He cleared his throat to get her attention.

She turned.

"Amy," he said with an exaggerated properness, "would you do me the pleasure of accompanying me to the theatre tonight?"

"But of course," she responded in kind, giving him a slight head bow.

They laughed and Amy surprised him by hugging him spontaneously.

"Oh, it'll be so much fun to get out and go to the theatre. And wait until you see Connerly; she has a fabulous voice. Last time I saw her perform was three years ago in an off-Broadway production of Kismet." She sighed, lost in her memory.

Bobby watched her face, thinking she was so beautiful, standing before him and remembering good times. She needed more of those to remember and he wanted to give them to her, have it be their memories that put that expression on her face.

Suddenly, Amy moved to look at the tickets once more. "Oh, my," she exclaimed. "We'd better hurry."

She began shutting down her office, cramming things into her desk drawers and bag. She flopped down in her chair and stuck her leg under her desk, fishing around for her shoes. She looked up and caught Bobby's confused expression.

"We need to go; we don't have much time to get ready."

She stood and moved to get her coat out of the closet by the door. "Could you grab my bag, please," she asked. "Well, don't just stand there," she admonished. She was getting frustrated because he hadn't moved.

"Amy, what's the hurry?"

"I have to change clothes, and my jewelry. My makeup has worn off and my hair is a mess, and why are you looking at me like that?"

"I think you look fine," Bobby said softly. He took a few steps toward her, drawing himself up closely in front of her. His eyes were intense on hers, and she bit her lip as she tried to look away. He reached out and hooked his finger under her chin, holding her firm. "I think you look beautiful," he breathed as he lowered his lips to hers.

As Amy predicted, Connerly was magnificent that night; she lit up the stage and wowed the audience with her portrayal of Ensign Nellie Forbush. The seats Susan had given them were her box seats, and they were the only ones present in the box that night. Connerly had been thrilled to see Amy after the show and to meet Bobby, stressing that the families just had to get together sometime soon; she was also excited about the upcoming gala and couldn't wait to get all dressed up and see her cast mates perform.

After returning home, Amy said she felt like sleeping at her place that night. It wasn't that she had anything against Bobby and his hospitality, she just didn't feel right imposing on him now that she was feeling better. Bobby said he understood and walked her to her bedroom door, where he gave her a hug and a kiss goodnight.

Amy lay awake a long time that night. Her thoughts were racing all over the place. The show had really hit her hard emotionally. She had seen it numerous times before, both on stage and screen, but this time, sitting next to Bobby, the show just felt….different. The storyline spoke to her like never before. The young woman spotting the handsome stranger across the room could very easily have been her in the USO back in Germany, the night she first met Bobby. The cultural differences and prejudices faced by the two couples featured in the story strongly reflected back to Amy the change in the dynamic of her relationship with Bobby; she was the "rich landowner" and he was the "poor farm girl" depicted in the story. Could they put aside their prejudices and preconceived notions of what's appropriate and do what feels right? So far, no one had said anything to her directly about Bobby, nor had she heard any rumblings, but one never knew in her circles.

Late into the night Amy finally succumbed to sleep.

Bobby's thoughts had also been racing. He had been picking up strange vibes and signals from Amy all evening. He, too, was familiar with the story, and it had spoken strongly to him, too. He was also noticing the parallels between the story on stage and their own personal story. He was keenly aware of the struggle that had been building up inside Amy as the musical went on, and was unsurprised that she wanted to sleep alone in her own place that night. As he struggled with his own thoughts, and wrestled with his deep desire to go to Amy and console her, Bobby, too, tossed and turned until early morning. What little sleep he got was fitful and full of dreams.

Early the next morning, a young man, shivering and hungry, stands in line outside a soup kitchen. A slightly older man spotted him and offered him a blanket and a cup of coffee while they waited for the kitchen to open for breakfast. They struck up a casual conversation; that awkward kind, with stammering and small talk, and who they both knew. The younger man was looking for a job; the older one knew of a janitorial company that was hiring. The older man asked if the younger man needed a place to stay; the younger nodded. By the time the doors opened, a new friendship was budding.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28 **

A very tired Amy dragged herself out of bed the next morning and forced herself to get dressed and head downstairs for coffee. Even though it was Saturday, and she really wanted to sleep late, she needed to stop by the theatre. She wanted to thank the cast and crew in person for their continued dedication to the foundation and their decision to keep going with rehearsals for the gala production.

Checking her watch, she saw that it was eight o'clock. She knew rehearsals would begin at 9, and that today would be the first day to have the full orchestra present instead of just CD accompaniment. Amy grabbed her cell phone and called Alex. Normally, she would have run upstairs and asked Bobby to go with her, but her thoughts and emotions were still jumbled from having seen _South Pacific_ the night before.

Forcing more cheerfulness into her voice than she felt inside, Amy urged Alex to come along and sweetened the deal with lunch, calling it a "girl's day". Alex was surprised by the request, and readily agreed; she enjoyed being around Amy and said she was looking forward to lunch and maybe even some shoe shopping afterwards.

Amy popped in at her parents' kitchen for breakfast that morning, telling them about the show the night before and how wonderful Connerly was. She let them know that she was headed to the theatre and that Alex would be with her; she also told them about her lunch and shoe-shopping plans. After a hug and kiss with each parent, Amy went back to her house.

Bobby was standing in the back alcove outside her kitchen. He was wearing jeans and a black tee-shirt and his dark curls were still ruffled from sleep. He had a coffee mug in his hand (one of hers, she noticed) and looked as though he had just gotten out of bed.

Amy stomach flipped and she had to fight hard to resist the overwhelming urge to comb his hair with her fingers, caress his stubbly cheek and gently kiss his sleep-swollen mouth. Instead, she balled her hands into fists and greeted him warmly.

"Did you sleep well?" He knew the answer before he asked from the dark circles under her eyes. He saw the tension in her fists and knew she was fighting her emotions and feelings as well.

"Not really," she shrugged. "I'll probably take a pill tonight if I can't fall asleep quickly enough. You?"

Bobby shrugged and took a sip of coffee. "I hope you don't mind," he said, holding up the mug.

She smiled and shook her head slightly.

"You're up and dressed early. Going somewhere?"

Amy looked down at herself. "Yes. I need to go by the theatre. I didn't get over there yesterday and I really want to thank them in person for their dedication and reassure them that I'm okay."

Bobby ran a hand through his hair and across the back of his neck as he spoke. "I, uh…I can go with you, if you'll wait for me."

"Hello! Anybody here? Amy?" Alex's voice rang out down the hall as she left Patty and AJ's.

"Down here," Amy called out as she turned her head and averted her gaze. She could feel Bobby's eyes on her and was afraid to face what she might see there.

"Oh, hey, Bobby," Alex greeted him cheerfully as she made her way towards them.

"Hey, Eames."

Alex noticed the tension between the two that arose from her sudden appearance. "That coffee smells good; I'm going to get myself some." She ducked into the kitchen.

Amy crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "I wanted a girl's day out with Alex," she said lamely. "We're going for lunch and shoe shopping after the theatre."

"Sounds like fun." His steady gaze and emotionless face remained tightly on her.

Bobby was about to say something else when he was interrupted by the sound of little feet pounding down the back hallway as a small voice hollered out, "Boppy!"

"Hey, Hudson!" He turned and greeted Hudson warmly, scooping him up as the little boy hugged his neck hard and squealed and kicked his legs.

"Gammy," Hudson cried out as he spotted Amy.

"Good morning, Hudson!" It was easy for Amy to greet the child with a big smile in spite of the awkwardness between her and Bobby. She reached out and tousled Hudson's hair and kissed his cheek. Hudson turned as Bobby turned, so that both were facing her, and Hudson reached out his arms, framing Amy's face and planting a sloppy kiss on her lips, before he hugged her neck. This brought Amy's face dangerously close to Bobby's, and she noticed the instant physical change that came over him from her proximity. Something flared in his brown eyes as his body reacted to the electricity that seemed to spark between them. Suddenly, Hudson pulled away from Amy and turned his head to plant an equally sloppy kiss on Bobby's cheek and the moment was gone.

"Go see Daddy," Hudson demanded. "Boppy want pancakes? Choc'it chip!"

"That sounds yummy!" Bobby turned to Amy. "I guess I know what I'm doing today," he said with a boyish grin.

"Well, you boys have fun," Amy said, tickling Hudson's tummy and smiling at her grandson's delightful giggles.

Alex emerged from the kitchen then, asking Amy if she was ready to go.

"I need a few more minutes. Why don't you come up with me?"

Bobby watched as Amy and Alex went up the stairs together. His expression was unreadable as he closed off what he was really feeling and focused on his grandson instead. They needed to talk about their feelings, and soon, before it was too late again.

"So, what's your name," he asked as they took their trays to a nearby table. Breakfast at the shelter that morning was hot oatmeal with sausage and fresh fruit.

"Donny Carlson," he answered as he sat down across from his new friend.

"Matthew Richardsen," Matthew responded, extending his hand to shake Donny's.

"You say you know of a company hiring workers," Donny asked as he stirred butter into his oatmeal.

"Yeah, a janitorial company in mid-town. They have a bunch of us working at City Centre, getting ready for some socialite's big gala performance fundraiser thingy. We have to have every inch of the place scrubbed and shined. I spent a lot of time the other day picking up trash and scrapping gunk off the chairs in the auditorium. You wouldn't believe what people stick on their chairs; it's like a fuckin' cheap movie show, ya know? Sorry, pardon my French," he grinned through a mouthful of food.

Donny smiled back. "No problem, I let stuff slip like that all the time. Used to drive my mom nuts, but she ain't here to fuss at me."

"I hear ya," Matthew agreed. "So, you interested?"

"Sure! What do I have to do?"

"Just come with me later and show some ID. You do got ID, right?"

"My driver's license. The address ain't correct, though."

"No problem; just tell them you moved and haven't changed it yet. You can put my address on your application. Oh, and your Social Security number; you gotta have that, too." Matthew finished his oatmeal and dove into his grapefruit.

"Okay," Donny said. "Thanks, man."

Matthew nodded back and the two men continued eating in companionable silence.

Amy felt loved and appreciated as the cast and crew of her gala show applauded when she and Alex walked out onto the stage. Amy thanked them warmly for their devotion to the show and the Foundation and for their bravery in their willingness to face the dangerous threats from whoever wanted to ruin her show.

At the encouragement of the cast, Amy agreed to rehearse her performance in the Christmas portion of the show. Amy would be portraying a mother whose son was off at war. The young man would sing "I'll be Home for Christmas" as he writes a letter to his mother. An instrumental portion would follow the letter to his home back in the states, where Mother reads it as the man's voice was heard finishing the piece from off-stage. The mother, in her desperate sadness, then sings "Where are you Christmas?", then turns from staring out the window to find her son standing in the doorway. They embrace, then begin to dance and finish singing the song together, with lyrics changed to reflect their happiness at "finding" Christmas. It was guaranteed to be a tear-jerker of a salute to all the men and women serving as soldiers in the U.S. Armed Services.

After a very successful, but very grueling rehearsal, Amy and Alex met with Samantha and the theatre manager out in the lobby. Samantha and the manager were inspecting the progress on the cleaning that was being done to ready the building for the gala.

"Hey Samantha; this looks great," Amy exclaimed as she slowly crossed the lobby.

There were workers everywhere: on ladders wiping the walls, on hands and knees scrubbing the baseboards and every level in between. All the nooks and crannies were being washed, dusted, scrubbed, polished and shined. Amy's function was important to the City Centre management team, and they wanted the place perfect.

"They're making great progress," Samantha agreed.

"Looks like they've hired more workers," Alex commented as she scrutinized the group closely. Several looked down-trodden and rag-tag, as though they had come straight from the sidewalks and shelters in the area.

The manager greeted the two ladies warmly and assured Alex that every one of the workers was on the up and up; all had been recommended by shelters and half-way houses in the area and the newest workers would have background checks run on them that afternoon. Several were parolees who had been dropped off from a nearby halfway house, but were being supervised by a parole officer. Every precaution was being taken.

Satisfied, Alex nodded and she and Amy left for lunch.

Off in the corner, Donny Carlson put his head down even closer to the floor and held his breath as he worked. He was fearful Detective Eames would notice him and talk to him. He was curious as to why she was there and his Uncle Bobby wasn't, but was smart enough not to ask her any questions. He knew his uncle was mad at him for running away from Tates Correctional, and he didn't want to be sent back to prison, or bother his uncle. He was his own man now and could make his own way without anyone's help. He was nervous about the background check he'd heard the manager mention. Maybe he would pretend to be sick tomorrow, or go find work elsewhere.

Later that evening, back in Matthew's very small, very run-down tenement, Donny brought up his concerns.

"I know one of those officers that was at the theater today."

"Really? Which one," Matthew asked. He was trying very hard to be nonchalant, but if Donny knew any police officers personally, it could jeopardize his whole plan.

"The woman that was with the tall dark-haired lady. I met her once when I was being held for shoplifting." Something in Matthew's body language was warning Donny not to say anything more. He had a very strong gut feeling that if Matthew knew his uncle was a detective, he could be in big trouble.

"Well, I know some of the ones who were hanging around yesterday. If you don't bother them, they won't bother you. They're just there to protect that tall dark-haired lady. You read that crazy threat letter in the paper? It was aimed at her."

Donnie looked at him in shock. "How do you know that?"

"I pay attention. I read the papers and I keep my mouth shut and listen. I don't need no cop trouble, either. You just keep quiet and listen and you'll be okay, too."

Matthew went into his bedroom and came back with a sleeping bag and a pillow.

"This is all I got, man. After you get paid, you can get some sheets or something." He threw the items on the couch.

"Sofa's yours. Stay outta my room, and we'll be cool, a-ight?" He stuck out his fist.

"A-ight, bro," Donny smiled and bumped Matthew's fist with his own. Matthew may be wound a little tight for Donny's liking, but he was cool.

Monday morning found Amy standing center stage at City Centre, trying to calm down a very distraught assistant director. Bobby was with her, as were Trey and Mike. Amy and Trey were supposed to practice their speaking parts for the awards presentations. Instead, they arrived to find the stage in shambles; the Teleprompters were smashed and broken and the podium was a pile of rubbish. Trey was on the phone, calling a friend in the theater business to see about getting new Teleprompters. The theatre manager was off to the side, trying to reassure the director that none of the damage was his fault and that there were more podiums available.

"I just feel so violated," the assistant director said. "I was the last one to leave the stage, and I know the officers in charge locked everything up. I don't understand."

"We have some the best detectives and crime scene techs in the entire police force working on it," Bobby quietly reassured the man. "Please don't worry about a thing."

"No one is mad at you either," Amy said consolingly. "Whoever is behind this is serious. This was a message. But I don't care; everyone has already told me they are committed to stick this out through the final curtain call. In two more weeks, it will all be over, and we can get on with our lives." She said it with more conviction than she really felt; right now she was shaking inside and all she wanted to do was leave. Maybe I should get away for the weekend and go to the winery, she thought.

Bobby noticed Amy's struggle. He reached out and gently touched the small of her back. Instantly, he felt her relax and lean slightly into his hand. _That's it_, he thought. _Lean on me; let me be your strength._

Later that day, Amy slipped into Bobby's office and asked him for a hug. As he held her tightly, tears began to roll down her cheeks and her shoulders shook slightly. Bobby rubbed his hands up and down her back and spoke to her softly.

"Are you okay?"

"No," she stated emphatically. "I'm tired, I'm frustrated, I'm angry, I'm scared. I'm all messed up inside and I feel like I'm going to explode trying to hold it all together. I can't wait until this is all over; I'm going to the winery, stand out on that big back porch and scream. Long and loud. Then, I'm going to cry until I can't cry anymore, sleep for three days straight and pig out on ice cream."

Bobby chuckled.

"What's so funny about that?" Amy pulled back and pouted at him. "I mean it. It's what I always do after the Gala, only this time even more so with all this threat business. I hope they find whoever it is, strip him, and string him up by his toenails."

That really made Bobby laugh; when he was done, he put his forehead to Amy's.

"They're going to do a lot more than that. Captain says the Mayor and the Police Chief really have it in for this guy. He – or she – has basically threatened the whole city with a terrorist act. There will be serious consequences for whoever it is, whether they are caught before or after acting on their threats."

"Have they made any progress?" Amy pulled away and moved to the floor to ceiling expanse of window that overlooked the street below. She loved to clear her mind by watching the traffic flow up and down the street and the people moving about on the sidewalk. Lately, however, the scene filled her with sadness at the thought of what could happen to her and her family or even how the scene below could change should the letter writer succeed.

"Some," Bobby answered. "Ross says they've narrowed down the area the letters were all mailed in, but that doesn't mean the person lives or even works there. They are pretty certain whoever it is, is male; young, possibly white, but again, not certain. Unless someone comes forward with more information, all we can do is what we've been doing."

He moved to join her at the window.

"That and hope y'all can catch him before he acts."

Bobby smiled. He loved it when she slipped into her Southern speech habits; while he would never use the word "y'all", he found it cute whenever Amy did.

That night, as Bobby was going to bed, there was a soft knock on his door.

"Amy." She was standing outside his door, in her gown and robe, a pillow clutched to her chest.

"I can't sleep."

"Why don't you take one of your pills?"

"I don't need one."

Bobby raised an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"I'm plenty sleepy," she yawned. "But…well….it….it's just not the same without you next to me," she blurted out. She averted her gaze quickly to the floor and clutched her pillow even tighter.

Bobby's mouth formed a silent "O". He felt the same way, too, but for different reasons. It had been taking every ounce of his strength not to make love to her before he was sure they were ready for such a step. It was something they had entered into lightly the first time around and he didn't want to make the same mistake twice, no matter how strong the physical attraction.

He reached out and raised her face to his. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

Amy looked at him, hard. Part of her was deeply hurt and felt like he was pushing her away. She hated the feeling. "Why not," she ventured softly.

Bobby sighed audibly and ran his hand through his hair. "Because…."

Amy knew in her gut, suddenly and surely, why not. Oh, my, she thought.

"Bobby, I just want you next to me while I sleep. I just want to wake up next to you. I want to see your face, your kind, sweet, gentle, handsome face, first thing in the morning. That's all. I promise," she said honestly and seriously.

Bobby sighed again then opened his door and his arms to her.

"I want that, too," he said softly into her hair as he hugged her close.

The next two weeks were fairly uneventful. The stage was cleaned up and a new podium and Teleprompters were brought in and set up. Rehearsals went extremely well, and everyone involved felt very prepared and ready for the big night. The theatre was gleaming and the excitement of opening night was in the air.

Donny had almost quit after he learned about the background checks, but Matthew had given him a fake ID and reminded him to keep quiet and listen. He had seen Eames several more times at the theatre, always with the "tall dark-haired lady", whom he later learned was Amy Wainwright. Matthew gave him the lowdown on the Foundation and the fundraiser, always careful to leave out his part of the treacherous goings on that necessitated all the security.

The day Donny had seen Trey Wainwright for the first time was almost his undoing. He was coming out of the restroom and bumped into Trey, hard. Upon looking up into the man's face to excuse himself for his carelessness, he nearly passed out. At first, he thought he was staring straight at his uncle, then realized he wasn't. Introductions had been made, and the two cousins met for the very first time. After asking around, Donny learned that Trey Wainwright was Amy's son. He also learned that another man came to the theatre with Ms. Wainwright as her private security guard, and that the two seemed awfully tight. It was rumored that that man was possibly Trey's father because they looked so much alike, but no one on the cleaning crew was really for sure. Donny's gut told him it was his Uncle Bobby.

The weekend before the gala, Donny was cleaning the kitchen in the small apartment he shared with Matthew. He reached into the cabinet under the kitchen sink for some cleanser when he noticed the large stash of green boxes. They were full of rat poison, yet Donny had never seen any rats or rat traps. Strange, he thought. He grabbed the cleanser and finished the kitchen.

Moving into the bathroom, Donny began by scrubbing the bathtub. Although Matthew had never asked him to, Donny felt like he should help out by doing some cleaning, especially since Matthew wasn't charging him any rent. He opened the bathroom cabinets, looking for the toilet cleaner and scrub brush when he spotted more boxes of rat poison.

Now he was really curious.

Matthew wasn't home. He said he had a second job at night and another on weekends, cleaning other offices and buildings with the janitorial company. He claimed to be saving up for classes at a nearby technical school; he wanted to be an auto mechanic.

Knowing Matthew would be gone most of the day, and really starting to get nervous about all the rat poison he was finding, Donny quickly finished the bathroom and put the cleaning supplies away. He stood in front of the door to Matthew's bedroom, agonizing over the urge to go in and find out what was going on, and the need to respect his roommate's request to stay out of his room. Taking a deep breath, Donny turned the knob and pushed open the door.

Bobby was surprised when his phone rang at 9:30 that night. He and Amy were still out to dinner; they were paying the bill and considering going to a comedy club around the corner for the late performance before heading home.

"Hello," Bobby said cautiously. His phone display had said "Unknown number" and he shrugged at Amy as he answered.

"Uncle Bobby? Is that you?"

Amy stared as Bobby's face paled and his body went completely still.

Bobby didn't know whether to choke the young man or to hug him. Donny Carlson, his prodigal nephew, was sitting across the table from him. They were in a donut shop in Chelsea; away from prying eyes and familiar faces.

"Okay, explain it to me again." Bobby was taking notes this time, his familiar binder open in front of him, favorite pen poised and ready.

Once more, Donny spilled out the same story he had the night before over the phone. The man he was currently rooming with, Matthew Richardsen, had a house full of rat poison and ball bearings, and stacks of plain white envelopes addressed to Amy Wainwright. Matthew had gotten Donny a job with a janitorial company and they had been spending most of their time working at the City Centre. He had seen Detective Eames there with Amy. He had heard about the threats to the Wainwright Foundation Gala that was happening the coming weekend. Matthew was spending less and less time in the apartment, he was out at other jobs, or so he claimed. Donny was scared and didn't know where else to turn.

"You did the right thing, Donny," Bobby reassured him when he was finished.

"I know about the letters and the threats," Bobby told him. "The whole force is working on it. We just didn't know who was behind it or what they were planning on doing. Now, at least, we have a name. Do you have any idea what he's planning on doing, if he is the one making the threats?"

"I don't know, man. He doesn't talk about it except to say it sounds scary and I should just keep quiet and listen and not make any of the cops or security officers mad. That's all. I wasn't even supposed to go into his room. If he finds out, I won't have a place to stay."

"Don't worry about that," Bobby said. "I'll take care of you."

He smiled. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too, Uncle Bobby. I wish I knew more."

"Well, like Matthew said, keep quiet and listen. Maybe you'll find out more. If so, you have to let me know right away. I need to get with Eames and Logan and tell them what you told me. This may be the break we need."

"Are you sure you want me to go back there?" Donny referred to the apartment he was sharing with Matthew.

"No, but what choice do we have except for you to be careful." Bobby ran his hands over his face. "I need you to find out all you can. Maybe this Matthew will let something slip and you can threaten to go to the police if he doesn't let you in on his plans. You have my cell phone, call me if you find anything, no matter how small or crazy, that could tell us more."

"Can you keep me from going to jail? I AM an escaped prisoner; I know they're looking for me and that if I get caught and printed, I'll have to go back. But, I can't go back to Tates, Bobby; I just CAN'T go back there."

"It's okay, Donny. She can't hurt you; she's not the warden there anymore and everyone who was working there has been re-assigned to other prisons or stations around the state. If you do end up going back to Tates, you will be safe, there. I promise."

Donny sighed and finally smiled back. They spent a few more hours together, catching up and talking about Bobby's new found son and grandson.

Eames and Logan were shocked when Bobby told them. The three were having an afternoon conference in Bobby's apartment, where Bobby shared his unexpected news. They all agreed that Ross needed to know, and that Richardsen needed checking into. Bobby called Ross and put him on speaker phone. Ross thanked them for the new information and assured them he would keep them in the loop. Ending the call, all four decided to keep this quiet until they knew exactly who they were dealing with and why he was targeting the Wainwright Foundation.

"Bobby, are you sure you did the right thing letting Donny go?" Alex was worried; this was uncharacteristic of Bobby. She knew that more than anything, Bobby wanted Donny safe.

Bobby ran his hand over his face and sighed. "I don't know, Eames. We need the info, and Donny wants to help. I just hope I'm right about this."

Gala week was always frantic at the downtown offices of the Foundation, and this year was no exception. It was even more frantic with the added security measures from the terror threats. However, all their hard work and preparation was paying off, as the to-do list was finished and it was only Tuesday morning.

At noon, Amy called Samantha into her office.

"I need to get away," she told her assistant.

"Well, then, go! Things are well under control here and the only stuff left to do can't be done until Friday and Saturday anyway. While you're up there, you can make sure the wine gets loaded for delivery; Jason called about and hour ago and said they were short several cases here in town. I'll get you the list before you go."

Amy smiled and thanked her.

"You taking Bobby with you," Samantha asked innocently.

Amy narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "Just get me that list."

Amy DID take Bobby with her. He had laughed when she said she needed to have her ice cream pig out party BEFORE the Gala, then asked her what flavor he should get for her. Their time away was easy and carefree, full of laughter and fun. There had been an evening of serious discussion, an "airing of the feelings", if you will, that had resulted in the two of them reaching a deeper understanding of themselves, each other, and their relationship.

Everyone noticed the change that had taken place between Amy and Bobby upon their return Thursday afternoon. Trey and Alex had certainly noticed and discussed it after dinner at Patty and AJ's that night.

Trey was pouring drinks in his grandfather's study when Alex came in.

"So, do you think they finally did it?"

"Did what," Trey asked, looking up from the small bar counter set back on the shelves behind the desk.

"Your parents," Alex huffed. "Something happened up at the winery; they've changed, and it's definitely for the better. My guess is, they finally had sex."

Trey blanched and sputtered. He blushed profusely at Alex's directness.

"Okaaaaayyyy….." He was very uncomfortable talking about such matters, but could tell Alex wasn't going to let it go. "They are different, I'll give you that much, but I'm certainly not going to ask them _that_."

"Well, whatever it is, I like it. It's about time those two figured out they belong together. I just hope they don't screw it up." She took one of the glasses Trey offered her and sipped thoughtfully as AJ, Patty, Mike, Bobby and Amy drifted in and joined them.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Donny didn't have to confront Matthew after all. Matthew came home early on Friday from wherever he had been going on their days off. Donny heard him banging on the door to the apartment and hollering for help. Upon opening the door, Donny helped Matthew with the armful of stuff he was struggling to keep from dropping.

"What is all this, man," Donny asked as he kicked the door shut and followed Matthew to the kitchen.

"Stuff I need for tomorrow," Matthew huffed as he dropped items on the floor and table. He began pulling the rat poison out from under the sink and Donny stared.

"What," Matthew asked him in annoyance.

"Nothin'…I just….uh…..what IS all this stuff?"

"You got any experience with electricity? You know, wires and stuff?" Matthew disappeared into the bathroom as he spoke and Donny could hear the cabinets opening and closing. Matthew re-appeared with more rat poison and tossed it on the table.

"A little," Donny answered, very confused now, as he watched Matthew go into his bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying several boxes of nails and ball bearings and a few large paper bags.

"What is all this," Donny asked again.

Matthew stopped moving and looked at Donny. "I'm making a bomb," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I'm going to blow that bitch and her prejudiced friends right off the face of the earth and I'm going to do it during her prissy little show tomorrow night." He turned and began unloading items onto the kitchen table.

"How you going to do that?" Donny spoke carefully. He needed to appear curious, but not overly so. He needed to find out what was going on so he could tell his Uncle Bobby, but he didn't want to anger Matthew and cause him to shut up or go away, or hurt him so that he couldn't do anything.

"I have it all printed out," Matthew said, going to one of the kitchen drawers. He pulled it open, lifted up the silverware tray and pulled out several sheets of paper. "Did you know they have all the information you need to build a bomb on the internet?"

"Can I see?" Again, Donny was trying to appear calm and only mildly interested.

"Can you do the wiring," Matthew asked again.

"Yeah, sure," Donny said confidently as he flipped through the pages. "This is easy; I can do this."

"Well then, let's get to work," Matthew said, slapping Donny on the shoulder.

As they worked through the night, Matthew revealed more and more of his grisly plan.

Amy was having a bad day. Even though she was much calmer after her few days away with Bobby, she was still anxious enough that it was hard for her to turn off her brain and sleep. She knew she could take a pill, but the thought of shutting off her brain, which usually sorted itself out wonderfully while she slept, was very off-putting. But, being tired and anxious only made her crabby, and her crabbiness had gotten her in trouble big time.

A tired brain never works as well as a rested one, and Amy's was no exception. In her present condition, the schedule for the Gala was becoming hard to finalize, and took its toll on her by noon. Bobby found her very out of sorts when he stuck his head into her office to ask her out to lunch.

"Can I help," he asked.

"I can get it," Amy snapped. She sighed and rubbed her eyes in frustration. "I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "I'm nervous and anxious and just can't seem to get all this final stuff to work out right. All these last minute changes are getting to me."

Bobby, now standing next to her, pulled her up out of her chair and hugged her. "Let me take it and see what I can do. Please?"

"Okay." She nodded.

He kissed her gently, scooped up the papers scattered across her desk, and smiled at her as he left. "I'll get back to you."

Relieved to have the help, Amy got a Dr Pepper out her small office refrigerator and turned her attention to a few urgent emails regarding the winery.

Bobby called her into his office later and presented her with the schedule. He had brilliantly worked out all the last minute kinks and changes in just a few short hours.

"What do you think," he asked.

_What do I think,_ Amy asked herself. She began to feel the irritation at his excellent work rising quickly inside her. _I think it's perfect._ Now jealousy rose, angering her further. _I think he did it better than I could have and faster than I could have. _

Not sure why, but possibly from being overly tired, possibly from being angry about the winery losing a large overseas customer, Amy lashed out.

"It won't work! You've never done one of these before; you have no idea what you're talking about. This plan is horrible!" It wasn't, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had outdone her.

"Don't you trust me," he fired back. Although his volume was soft, his voice was full of hurt and anger. He rose slowly from his desk and stalked her like a tiger ready to pounce. She moved backwards towards the door, fearful of what she saw in his eyes. Instead of apologizing and diffusing the situation, upon reaching the door, she had said the worst thing imaginable: "NO!"

She slammed the door and stormed down the hall, yelling for Samantha to come into her office.

"AMY!"

She heard him roar her name in anger and his footsteps pounded down the hall as he followed her.

Samantha retreated into the safety of her own office and listened in shock as Amy and Bobby's loud, angry voices could be easily heard through the door Bobby had slammed shut. She wondered what had happened to cause this.

Bobby left Amy's office a few minutes later and walked calmly back to his own, but his hurt and anger was noticeable. He knew she had lashed out due to the intense stress, anxiety and nervousness that she was feeling, but that didn't make her words to him any less hurtful. The result was a coolness between the two of them the rest of the day that carried over into the next, causing everyone around to be even more nervous than usual.

Everyone arrived extra early at the City Centre Auditorium for the Gala the next day. Security checkpoints were in place, and everyone filed through in an orderly fashion. Mike and Bobby introduced Captain Ross to the group; Ross explained how the security measures would work for the rest of the day, and tried his best to assure the group that they, and their audience that evening, would be safe.

A second meeting took place afterwards. All the security guards and Amy, Bobby, Alex, Mike and Trey were present as well. Ross told the group that a major lead had come up earlier in the week; they now knew the identity of the mystery man as well as confirmation that he would be attempting some sort of violent act towards the Foundation that very day, but that the exact place and time were still unknown. He carefully explained in great detail everyone's positions and duties. Body armor was issued to everyone. Ear pieces and small microphones were passed out to those who would be backstage, and those who were ushers and ticket takers. Larger ear pieces with wrap-around microphones were issued next to the security search crew and personal guards. It was agreed that more conspicuous communications gear would be comforting to the audience members. The personal guards were assigned to the box seating that would be holding dignitaries and celebrities. Once everyone knew their assignments, the group was dismissed to finish getting ready.

At 2:30 that afternoon, Bobby's cell phone rang. He glanced at the call screen, then looked around surreptitiously. He tried to move discreetly off into a corner before answering. It was Donny. He had information for Bobby, but very little time to talk, so Bobby listened quietly, keeping his face neutral. The call ended with Bobby saying thank you and pocketing his phone.

"What's up?"

Bobby, startled, turned to find Alex standing behind him.

"Oh, nothing."

"I know you, Bobby," Alex stated. "That phone call wasn't nothing."

"We need to find Ross and Logan." Bobby turned and strode away quickly, Alex hot on his heels.

_At 6 that evening, Amy, Trey and Bobby changed into their formal attire and slipped out the back of the building into a waiting limousine. The driver took them down the street, turned left and circled back to the front of the City Centre. There, the three made a formal entrance out onto the red carpet, where they walked together, in public. The cameras went crazy for the three of them, every magazine vying for a photo. Amy and Bobby had appeared together on several previous occasions with the winery or gallery, but this was their most prestigious event yet, and the three of them were together as a "family"._

_ Once inside, they changed and became all business, with Amy and Trey headed backstage, and Bobby waiting for Patty and AJ to enter behind him and clear security. His assignment for the evening would be to sit in the box with Patty and AJ and their guests: DA Jack McCoy and the mayor, the governor and their wives. Another tuxedo-clad police officer would be with them as well. Bobby would be in contact with everyone via the small earpiece and microphone he had gotten that afternoon._

Mike Logan was on high alert. Donny's phone call had confirmed his and Bobby's worst fears: Matthew was planning on setting off a bomb in the tunnels underneath the building. What they had not expected was Donny telling them that Matthew had also made a vest similar to the ones suicide bombers wear, and was planning on walking into the auditorium during the show and killing himself, taking as many of the "hated rich people" as he possibly could with him. Mike was currently patrolling the back corridors of the building and had a S.W.A.T. team combing the halls with him, as well as the basement and tunnel exits. All the back entrances were locked with police on both sides. The F.B.I. had been called shortly after Bobby received Donny's call, and they had sent their bomb squad as reinforcements. All this was being done quietly, so as not to call attention to them or to be too upsetting to the patrons.

_Amy and Trey were stationed backstage, ready for the curtain to rise. Amy was filled with nervous anticipation and she giggled as she wiped her sweaty palms on a small cloth before shoving it into Trey's pants pocket._

_ He smiled and laughed. "You still get that nervous after all these years, Mom?"_

_ "Yep," Amy nodded. "I have too much invested not to be. Here we go!"_

_ The curtain rose, she grabbed Trey's hand, and the two walked out to center stage together._

_ Bobby watched carefully from the box. Amy was a vision in a stunning gown of sapphire blue. She was beaming next to their handsome son Trey. Bobby felt himself swell with pride at the sight of the two of them as they welcomed everyone, talked a bit about the Foundation and its work, and finally introduced the emcees for the evening, Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane. The two men entered to thunderous applause, hugged Amy, shook hands with Trey, and kicked off the show with a rousing opening number as Amy and Trey disappeared backstage._

In his earpiece, Bobby could hear Mike checking in with each person patrolling the building. So far, so good.

_The first three acts went off without a hitch. No glitches on stage or off, no problems anywhere in the building. Amy and Trey returned to the stage to announce the first of the year's Foundation grant recipients. Each recipient would be introduced and honored, their mission would be shared, and representatives from each would be brought up on stage to be recognized and applauded. Again, everything went smoothly. Bobby clicked his mic twice, then softly spoke, letting everyone know where they were in the show's program. It was his job to keep them updated, as the intermission was a tricky spot in the evening; the audience would be let out of the theatre for thirty minutes to use the restroom facilities and to place their final bids on the silent auction items on display in the lobby. Wainwright wines would also be available for purchase. The large number of people moving around would be a prime time for the bomber to strike if he hadn't been stopped before then._

It was Danny Ross who saw him first.

Matthew and Donny had snuck into the building via the tunnels. By watching closely and moving carefully, they had managed to avoid the guards. Donny had boosted Matthew up into the vents in the ceiling and was waiting to return to the tunnel; they had pre-arranged everything. Matthew would enter the auditorium and blow himself up; Donny would allow Matthew a five minute start through the vents before returning to the safety of the tunnels below the building.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Ross instinctively went on high alert. He quietly ducked around the nearest corner and watched as Matthew dropped down from the ceiling vent and looked around.

Ross clicked his mic three times, giving his team the signal. Immediately, all the guards on his side of the building moved in towards Ross, who was patrolling just outside the auditorium doors.

Bobby tensed in his seat and he listened intently as Ross and his team, assisted by several members of the FBI's SWAT team and the NYPD's bomb squad, carefully and efficiently took down Matthew, stopping him from him from hitting the kill switch and then safely diffusing the bomb strapped to his chest.

_On stage, two more numbers had performed successfully._

Logan ran from his side of the building around to the front, and arrived, breathless and panting, as Ross led Matthew, handcuffed and defeated, out to an awaiting patrol car.

_The final performance of the second set took the stage._

Logan climbed into the rear of the police car and sat next to Matthew.

"So, just what do you plan on doing now," he asked the sullen young man.

Matthew spat at him and turned his head, facing away from the intimidating officer.

Logan chuckled. "Son, it's gonna take a lot more than that to make me leave."

Matthew said nothing.

"So, that's how it's gonna be, huh? Okay. We wait."

Matthew turned and smirked at Logan.

"Yes, we wait. We wait and watch as your friends and that bitch get blown to smithereens."

Logan turned in his seat and rose imposingly over Matthew.

"We know about the bomb. There are men searching right now." His words were slow and precise, his anger barely held in check.

Matthew stuck out his chin. "You'll never find it in time."

"How long," Logan growled.

Matthew stayed silent.

"I said, how long?" Logan glared at Matthew and pulled his handcuffed arms up higher behind his back.

The young man grimaced and squeezed out, "Two hours. The timer is set for two hours."

Logan leaped out of the car and looked at his watch. He ran towards the building, hitting his mic and screaming, "AN HOUR AND A HALF! GET MOVING NOW!"

_Bobby's blood ran cold when he heard Logan yell. His anger barely concealed by the outward calm he struggled hard to project, he quietly excused himself and ducked out of the upstairs box._

_ Backstage, Amy tensed when she heard Mike's words. She and Trey were set to introduce another grant winner after the act on stage finished. Would they find the bomb in time? She glanced over at Trey. He, too, had heard about the second bomb and had a worried look on his face. Trey pulled his mic out of his ear; Amy followed suit; they both took a deep breath and tried to relax. The act ended, the performers left the stage, and Amy and Trey pasted smiles on their faces and stepped out onto the stage._

Ross caught Bobby's eye as he came down the stairs towards the lobby. Bobby mouthed "check the tunnels" and Ross nodded, grabbing Logan's upper arm and pulling him towards the service stairs.

Bobby glanced at his watch. There were only three more acts before intermission. If they hadn't found the bomb by then, they were faced with a tough decision: should they allow the audience to return from intermission, or clear the building? They would have to find that bomb, first.

The three men regrouped outside the nearest entrance to the tunnels. This particular entrance was a manhole in the janitor's basement closet, a few steps away from the main dressing rooms. They followed several SWAT team members down the ladder and into the murky darkness. This particular tunnel eventually opened into a fairly wide, brightly lit corridor that could be used by theatrical productions as a way to move sets and scenery in and out of the theatre. A second entrance was on the other side of the theatre, along with a service elevator that opened on the loading dock off the alley behind the theatre. It was a lot of ground to cover, and time was running out.

_Amy and Trey finished recognizing the second grant recipient of the evening and walked off stage. Amy put her earpiece back in and said a quick prayer. She caught the eye of Alex Eames, who was standing off in a corner backstage, wearing an equally concerned expression on her face, and raised her eyebrows. Alex shrugged in answer, and shifted nervously; she really hated that her post was here right now, but knew she could not leave, no matter what happened._

_ Nathan and Matthew began a scripted comedy routine to lead into the third set of performances._

Even with the extra manpower, it was slow going down in the tunnels. Bobby had memorized the maps and done several walk-throughs, but it was different now. The intense pressure of the reality of the situation was pressing and he fought to maintain his composure and keep his head clear. He was sweating.

"You all right, Detective?" Ross's voice was low and concerned as he proceeded through the dim dankness of the tunnel, looking for any sign of a bomb.

Bobby grunted. "We should be close to the wide, well-lit area near the rear of the stage."

"That's not what I asked," Ross said firmly.

"I know what you asked," Goren snapped back.

"Detective," Ross stopped, putting his hand on Goren's shoulder as he continued to speak firmly. "You have too much invested in this. Are you sure you can stay calm and level-headed."

Bobby's eyes bored into Ross's. "Yes, Captain, I'm sure."

He turned and proceeded down the corridor.

_The first performance of the third set began. Amy glanced at the program list taped to the wall next to her. She knew intermission was coming quickly and wondered what would happen then if the bomb wasn't found. In her tiny ear piece, she could hear the voices of the men and women searching the tunnels for the bomb._

Donny began to get nervous. He had not heard an explosion. He had waited the planned five minutes after boosting Matthew up into the large air vent and was now in the alcove where the bomb was. He didn't really want it to go off, but there was no way to diffuse it without it exploding; Matthew's instructions had made sure of it, and Donny was not skilled at bomb making. There had been no way for him to rig a kill switch or any other type of diffusion mechanism into the bomb, or for him to do it in such a way as to trick Matthew. If the bomb had not looked exactly like the pictures in the instructions, Matthew would have suspected something and Donny could have been in danger. He needed to be in the tunnel; it was the only chance he had to warn Bobby and possibly prevent this bomb from going off.

The bomb was very dangerous. It wasn't very big, but packed a powerful punch as Matthew had somehow been able to secure det-cord and C4 explosive from a friend of his. Added to the mix were fertilizer, dynamite and satellite bombs. Those had been strung down the corridor in several directions to form a chain reaction of smaller explosives. Matthew wanted to do as much damage to the building as possible.

Donny nervously checked his watch. Too much time had passed and there was an hour and a half left on the timer. He hoped that Bobby and his friends had been able to stop Matthew. He decided to take matters into his own hands; he may not be able to stop the timer on the main bomb, but he could easily remove the wires from the smaller bombs and render them useless. Hopefully, it would be enough.

_The second act of the third set took the stage and began to perform._

_ Amy and Trey continued to listen nervously to the search going on below their feet._

Donny unplugged the last satellite bomb and turned to go back to the alcove when he thought he heard voices. He froze and listened. The sound was faint, but it was there; there were men in the tunnels, searching for the bomb. He made his way back to the bomb's cubby hole in the alcove, stared at the rapidly shrinking timer, and waited.

_ The final act of the first half finished. Amy and Trey honored the third grant recipient of the evening and the audience was dismissed for intermission._

_ Amy, Trey, and the director all rushed over to Alex as performers and stage hands moved around them, readying the stage for the second half of the show._

_ "What do we do, Alex? Is it safe for them to come back in after the intermission," Amy asked, concerned etched on her face._

_ "Unless we hear otherwise, directly from Ross, yes." Alex was just as concerned. She walked Amy to her dressing room and stayed with her as she changed into her outfit for her Christmas scene. The tribute to the military would start off the second half, Trey would present the final grant recipient and scenes from the musical "White Christmas" would finish off the show. The audience would be invited to sing along to "White Christmas" and they would all end the evening with the entire cast and audience singing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." _

Down in the tunnels, the search crew was closing in on the loading dock area. They had painstakingly and carefully cleared every inch of tunnel, all the while mindful that time was running out.

_ The audience enjoyed the intermission. Many glasses of wine were purchased and consumed. Auction items were bid upon; laughter and conversation filled the air. Copious amounts of water were flushed through the sewage pipes of the restrooms and ran down the drains of the bathroom sinks as the people went about their business, unaware of what was going on beneath their feet._

_ The chimes rang. Intermission was over. Just off stage, Amy turned her earpiece off the channel the search team was on and prayed that all would go according to plan; Bobby was down there in the tunnels, she hoped he was safe._

It was a SWAT member who found Donny first.

Raising his hands in the air, Donny told the man all he could about the bomb and what he had done to try to lessen its impact. Donny assured the officer that he was unarmed and would cooperate fully. Then he sat down on the cold concrete floor and asked for Bobby; he would only talk to his uncle, NYPD Detective Robert Goren, from now on.

The officer stepped carefully around the young man and began to study the bomb. It was well made; he realized he needed help if he was going to diffuse it, and quickly. There were only 30 minutes left on the timer.

_ "I've never heard her sing with that much emotion before. Where did that come from," the producer wondered. He was whispering softly to Trey as they stood together in the wings and watched Amy perform on stage._

_ "If I tell you, will you keep it quiet," Trey asked as he looked around surreptitiously. Ever since the search started in the tunnels, Alex had been keeping an extra close eye on him lest he tell anyone about the bomb search and start a mad panic among the performers and stage crew._

_ The man nodded, keeping his gaze on the stage. As Trey told him about the bomb search and Amy's concern for Bobby's safety, the producer kept his face neutral, glancing at his clipboard as though he were checking his notes. Inwardly, his blood ran cold and he began to pray._

Logan, Ross and Goren found Donny sitting quietly on the floor, surrounded by FBI. There were now four men looking at the bomb, discussing it, trying to decide what to do.

"He'll only talk to you, Goren," said Agent Fulton, gesturing at Donny. He and the other agents moved a short distance away to afford Bobby some privacy.

"Bobby," Donny exclaimed as he hopped up from the floor. He began speaking so quickly his words were falling all over one another and Bobby could barely understand him.

He took Donny by the shoulders and shook him gently. "Slow down, Donny; start over."

"I can't stop the bomb." Donny took a deep breath and forced himself to continue slowly. "Matthew found a plan for a bomb that can't be diffused. It'll blow if you cut any of the wires. You all should just leave."

"Not without you," Bobby said.

"Captain," one of the agents next to the bomb called out.

"Yes," Ross answered.

"You heard the lad. What do you want to do?"

"Is he correct? Can we diffuse it?"

"Not without the plans and we don't have time. There's only 15 minutes left."

_In the wings, Alex paled. She approached Trey._

_ "We have to do something. We have to get these people out of here."_

_ On stage, the "son" had come home from war and was dancing with Amy, his "mother"._

_ The director made a quick decision. "Everyone, start leaving. Go out the stage left door. Now!" He clicked his mic and made eye contact with Amy out on the stage. "As soon as the song ends, announce a change of plans and get everyone out into the lobby."_

A male voice from the command vehicle outside the building, where a group of agents and officers had been keeping tabs on the whole operation, suddenly cut in.

"He's correct, sir. We've had eyes on the bomb for the last ten minutes, and haven't been able to match it to any of the plans in our data base. I've got someone searching the internet, but I don't know how quickly we'll be able to find it."

Ross sighed and looked around. He stepped over next to Bobby.

"What do you suggest, Goren? He's your nephew."

"You all go on ahead. I'll try to talk him into coming with me. If I have to, I'll knock him out and carry him. Go."

Ross gave the move out signal. "GO! Hurry!" The agents and officers began running towards the loading dock; it was the fastest way out of the building.

_Trey walked out on stage and took his mother's hand. Raising a microphone to his mouth, he announced to the audience a change in the evening's program. He asked everyone to exit out the doors to their right and move out into the street in front of the theatre. He and Amy would join them for a special announcement, followed by singing Christmas carols outside._

_ The confused crowd rose from their seats and began to move towards the doors._

"Donny, we have to go."

"No, Uncle Bobby. I need to something, anything, to lessen this. I can't hurt you, or anybody. It was my plan all along to stop this bomb. You gotta help me. Please," Donny pleaded.

Bobby sighed and glanced at the timer. There were now ten minutes left.

_Alex joined Trey and Amy on stage as the audience continued to file out. _

_ "Well," she asked. _

_ "How much time do we have left," Alex asked the search crew. She listened briefly, then said to Trey and Amy, "13 minutes."_

_ "That's not much time," Amy said nervously._

_ "Trey, you need to follow the audience and keep everyone safe. The search crew is headed out to the loading dock; they won't be able to diffuse the bomb and are getting out of the way. I'll head that direction from up here and send them around to the front for crowd control."_

_ "I like it," said Trey. "Mom, you coming with me?"_

_ "No," Amy stated emphatically. "I'm going with Alex. I want to be with Bobby."_

_ "Mom—"_

_ "I'm going." Amy cut Trey off. "Don't worry about me. You go out front. NOW."_

_ Trey reluctantly headed to the front steps of the stage. He could hear Alex arguing with Amy, and looked over his shoulder to see his mom striding purposefully toward the backstage area, Alex hot on her heels. He turned and hurried out of the theatre._

_Mike Logan came running around the side of the building when he heard one of the agents in the command vehicle state that there were people coming out of the theatre and into the street. He made his way through the crowd to the doors, just as Trey was coming out of the auditorium and into the lobby._

_ "What's going on?"_

_ "We've told the audience there's been a change in plans. We're going to announce an initial total for the fundraiser, then sing Christmas carols to the city out here in the street. It was the only way we could clear the building without causing a panic," Trey told him as they exited out onto the sidewalk._

_ "Good plan," Mike said appreciatively. _

_ Trey climbed up onto a planter and raised his hand in the air to get the crowd's attention._

Bobby and Donny studied the bomb. Donny tried to explain to Bobby how it was built in the hopes that they could figure out how to stop it.

"Bobby…"

Bobby looked at Donny.

"I'm sorry; I really am. I should have told you sooner, but I didn't know."

"There's a lot you should have done sooner, Donny," Bobby told him sadly.

"I know," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

Bobby squeezed his nephew's shoulder affectionately.

"We should leave, Donny. There's not much time left." Bobby glanced at the timer; the red display now began to countdown from six minutes. They had just enough time to get out by the loading dock exit and around to the front of the building, where they would be safely away from the blast area.

"I want to try to unplug the timer one last time," Donny said. "Please?"

Bobby sighed. He took a few steps back and gave the go ahead.

"Maybe you should move farther away, Bobby. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Donny—"

"No! I want you to move away. Please! Go! Let me try this."

"You can't do it, Donny. You have to leave, too."

"No, I don't. What's left for me out there? Jail? You know I can't go back there. You have your job, and your family. I have nothing."

"You have your mother."

Donny snorted.

"You have me," Bobby said softly but firmly. He held his hand out to Donny.

Donny shook his head and stepped back away from Bobby.

"I have to do this. If it doesn't work, I promise I'll be right behind you running towards the exit."

Bobby hesitated.

Donny looked at the timer. It now said three minutes. "Bobby," Donny pleaded for his uncle to leave.

Bobby sighed again and ran his hand over his face. "How much time is there?"

"Three minutes. You need to move back."

_Alex convinced Amy not to enter the tunnels from the backstage entrance, but to exit out through the loading dock and move a safe distance away. This way, they could be there as the agents and officers exited the building._

_ They found the men outside and joined them. Ross quickly brought them up to speed on the situation in the tunnels. Alex grabbed Amy and held onto her tightly when Amy blanched, turned pale and reeled slightly. _

_ All they could do now was watch and wait._

Bobby moved out of the alcove to the far side of the hallway across from the opening. He side-stepped several feet to his left. He was closer to the loading dock, but still in clear sight of Donny and the bomb. There were a filing cabinet and some old solid wood set pieces at the alcove's entrance. He was hoping they would be enough to shield him from the direct impact of the shock wave, should bomb explode before he could clear the hallway.

Donny waited while Bobby moved away, then turned back to the bomb. Focusing on the timer, he studied the wires coming out of it and tried to picture the plans in his head. Which wire had they attached last? If he could just remember, then maybe, just maybe, he could stop the bomb.

His hand was shaking as he reached for the wires. He took a deep breath, made his decision, and yanked.

_Out on the cold city street, Trey announced that the fundraiser's preliminary total was $750,000. They wouldn't know the final official total until all the receipts were in. _

_ The crowd cheered and applauded._

_ Three of the cast members came to stand next to Trey and announced to the crowd that they would start the caroling off with "White Christmas". They took a deep breath, pointed to the crowd and everyone sang loudly. Their hearts were filled with joy as other people out on the streets stopped to watch, some even joining in._

Donny watched in disbelief as the timer stopped, then suddenly sped up, it's time decreasing in half-second intervals. He wasn't expecting this. How had Matthew managed that?

He looked at Bobby, his eyes filled with panic, and yelled, "Run, Uncle Bobby! RUN!"

Bobby began to run towards the loading dock.

Donny, his eyes filled with sadness and admiration for the man he wished he'd known longer, did the only other thing he could think of to lessen the effect of the bomb.

In front of the theatre, the joyfully singing crowd fell into a stunned silence as they heard the muffled sound of an explosion and felt the pavement rattle beneath their feet.

Out back in the loading area, the agents and officers were stunned at the force of the explosion. As the sound began to fade away, Amy's voice could be heard.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

In the tunnel, Bobby's knee began to throb as he ran as hard and as fast as he could toward the loading dock exit doors. He heard a loud roar as the bomb exploded. He felt its force against his back as the shockwave moved outward. He began to fall forward.

His world went black.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Amy looked down at the still, quiet shape on the hospital bed in front of her. Bobby had been unconscious for three days now. The blow to his head had been severe; recent tests showed the relief shunt had done its job – the swelling was gone, the bleeding had stopped and the blood was almost completely re-absorbed by his slowly healing body. He was even breathing on his own now. Why he wasn't showing any signs of regaining consciousness was a mystery.

She moved to the side of the bed and gently took his large hand in hers. He looked better now that the ventilator was gone from the room and the breathing tube removed from his mouth. He looked as though he was sleeping and would wake up at any moment, smile at her, and tell her he loved her.

He knew she loved him. After tearing herself from Alex's grasp and running into the smoke-filled tunnel, she had told him over and over as the smoke cleared and the sound of the explosion rang in her ears. She told him as she cradled his limp form in her arms, his blood pouring from the back of his head, his breathing shallow, his eyes barely focused on hers. She begged him not to leave her, sobbing "No!" loudly and repeatedly as he lost consciousness and slipped from her emotionally. She had prayed in the hospital chapel for hours, still in her blood-stained dress, as doctors frantically worked to stop the bleeding, relieve the pressure on his brain and stabilize his body.

She had passed out upon finally being able to see him; his still body was filled with tubes and covered with wires. She came to on a gurney in the hall outside the ICU. Mike Logan had fought for them to let her rest there, knowing she would want to see Bobby as soon as possible. Since Trey was his only blood relation, he had fought to get permission for Amy, Mike, and Alex to enter the ward with him during visiting hours. Now that he was in a private room on the brain injury ward, the four were able to take turns keeping watch.

Amy looked over the bed and smiled lovingly at Mike. The man was sprawled in the recliner, sound asleep. She walked around the bed and gently shook his shoulder and softly called his name.

Mike stirred, sleepily opening one eye.

"Oh, hey," he mumbled as recognition seeped into his brain.

She stepped back as he yawned loudly and stretched his arms over his head.

"How's he been," Amy asked.

"The same; no movement, no change. Did they tell you his fever broke?" Bobby had been running a low-grade fever since the night before; antibiotics had been added to the IV nutrients to ward off any potentially life-threatening infection.

"Um-hm," Amy nodded. "Penelope told me as soon as I stepped off the elevator. She's such a great nurse; I'll be putting in a good word for her with administration."

"She deserves it," Mike agreed as he stood up. "I'm gonna use the restroom, then I'll be out of here."

"Okay, take your time."

Amy set her purse on the floor next to the chair, then resumed her vigil on the other side of the bed. She preferred that side because there were no IV's in Bobby's right hand. She knew that would drive him nuts once he woke up, but there was nothing she could do about it. In his weakened state upon arrival at the hospital, his left hand was the only place the ER nurse had been able to hit a cooperative vein.

This time, she obeyed her urge to lower the rail and perch on the edge of Bobby's bed. She gently caressed his face and ran her fingers through his hair. As she had done every time she took up her watch and every time she left, she leaned over and whispered into his ear. "I love you, Robert Goren. Come back to me. Please. I need you."

And like every other time before, there was no sign of recognition. No sign that he had heard her. No sign that her words were penetrating the fog that held him hostage in his own head. No sign of movement. No sign of life.

Amy sighed and shifted on the bed. She thought back to one of the long talks they had had recently about the state of their relationship. She had questioned Bobby hard, getting right to the point and shocking him briefly.

"Why won't you make love to me?" They were sitting on the upstairs balcony at the winery, having snuck off from the hectic activity surrounding the final preparations for the Gala show. It was only days away and proceeding smoothly.

Bobby gulped down the rest of his wine and thought hard. When he finally spoke, he picked his words carefully.

"I have to be sure we're okay. I'm not worried about physical attraction; I'm worried about everything else. Are you going to run away again? Push me away if we get too close?"

He got up and began to pace as Amy's heart raced. She watched him become more and more agitated in his movements as he spoke. He spilled his heart to her, all of his doubts and fears about them, about himself, about was he was doing and where he thought he was going; where he thought they were going.

"Please don't get me wrong, I'm loving every minute of this. I love my son…I love my grandson. Hell, I even love the work I'm doing."

He stopped at the railing and looked out towards the hills.

"But is it enough, Amy?" He spoke so softly, she barely heard him.

She stood and joined him at the railing. When he finally turned his head and looked at her, revealing his soul to her, her breath caught in her throat.

Gingerly, she reached out and ran her fingers through his soft curls, meeting his gaze and hoping her eyes were telling him what her soul was feeling.

"I love you," she heard the words tumble unbidden from her mouth.

He stiffened slightly at her unexpected words. As he continued to look at her, he knew it was true. He had known for some time now. It was obvious. She'd never been very good at hiding her feelings. Hearing it, however, changed everything.

"Did you hear me," she asked.

He nodded.

"I love you, Bobby. I have loved you from the moment our eyes met across the dance floor all those years ago." She smiled tenderly as her hand moved to cup his cheek.

He shifted now, facing her fully and placing his hands lightly on her hips. His eyes became intense, almost frightening in the dim light at the edge of the balcony.

She held her breath as she continued to watch his eyes, exhaling only when she saw his love for her flicker briefly in the murky brown depths.

When he softly touched his lips to her forehead, she sighed.

When those same soft lips traveled across to tease her temple, her stomach flipped.

When he pressed his stubbly cheek to her soft one, his warm breath softly blowing her hair, she gripped his upper arms.

When he turned his face, never breaking their skin-to-skin contact, she felt that age-old tingle began to creep up from her toes.

When his lips finally made contact with hers, her knees buckled.

When his strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him, the earth rolled beneath her feet.

Bravely, she parted her lips, letting him in, allowing him access.

He took it. More than that, he plundered the very depths of her soul.

She rose up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting more. Craving more. Needing more.

He groaned as his body reacted.

Throwing caution to the wind, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her back into the bedroom.

When he reached the bed, he lowered her legs gently and searched her face.

She reached out and unbuttoned his shirt, never breaking eye contact. He shrugged as she pushed and the shirt fell to the floor.

She took a step towards him then, lightly running her fingers up his arms. Electricity seemed to dance from her fingertips, igniting his loins. He forced himself to stay still when she pressed her lips against his shoulder. He thought he would die as she very gently rained kisses across his shoulder and up his neck. She stopped to nibble and suckle, marveling in his reaction. Her lips continued their fiery journey up to his ear lobe. The instant her lips made contact with the sensitive flap of skin, goose bumps sprang up along his arms and his toes curled inside his shoes.

He reached out and placed his hands on her bottom, pulling her in tight, allowing his arousal to press into her. She sighed with pleasure against his ear and began to move her lips across his jaw towards his mouth. Pressing her lips against his, she slid her arms around his shoulders and boldly stroked his mouth with her tongue, daring him to allow her entrance.

As he accepted her invitation and opened his lips, his hands pulled her t-shirt from the waistband of her jeans and up across the small of her back. The heat from his hands branded her as his as they deepened their kiss together.

Soon, all of their clothing was on the floor. Bobby gently pushed her back onto the bed, covering her body with his.

"I've waited a long time for this," he said, looking down at her.

"I know."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Are you," she asked him back.

"Absolutely," he growled, as he dipped his head.

Slowly and tenderly they explored each other, relearning every nook and cranny; touching, feeling, kissing, licking. Climbing higher and higher together, they sent each other to new heights of passion.

Bobby kissed every inch of Amy's body. His lips followed his hands in intense exploration of the body that had borne his child. He reveled in her sounds; every gasp, groan and moan excited him further. He delighted in her taste, couldn't get enough of her.

Amy had her way with Bobby, too. She could give as good as she got, and Bobby was delirious with passion by the time she was through with him.

He slid over her, reaching down between her legs, readying her for him. She groaned, deep and primal and he roared in triumph as he shifted and slid deep inside her. Her legs wrapped around his body as they began to move; slowly at first, finding just the right spot, the right pace. Their souls began to dance, swirling and twirling higher and higher as their bodies moved. Tension mounted as their upward journey continued. Their souls exploded simultaneously like fireworks high in the night sky, and still they continued until finally, exhausted and spent, they allowed themselves to float gently back down to earth.

Amy sighed and shifted on the edge of Bobby's hospital bed as she recalled the argument they had had in the office on Friday. She regretted it deeply now. Bobby had come up with the perfect layout and schedule for the Gala evening; Amy, angry and jealous that he had not only done her job, but done it better than she had, lashed out.

"It won't work! You've never done one of these before; you have no idea what you're talking about. This plan is horrible!" It wasn't but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had outdone her.

"Don't you trust me," he had fired back. Although his volume was soft, his voice was full of hurt and anger. He rose from his desk and stalked her like a tiger ready to pounce. She moved backwards towards the door, fearful of what she saw in his eyes. Instead of apologizing and diffusing the situation, upon reaching the door, she had said the worst thing imaginable: "NO!"

He had followed her down the hall, they had argued in her office, and he had stormed out. His mannerisms towards her the rest of that day and the day of the Gala were telling. She had hurt him, hurt him deeply.

Now she wanted him back; needed him back. She had been telling him every day how much she loved him. This time, Amy apologized, telling him she deeply regretted what she had said. She confessed her jealousy to him; expressed how she felt threatened in her job. She admitted to him that she knew it was stupid of her to feel that way; she let it all out, even admitting to herself that she had pushed him away once again. She cried and sobbed as she spoke, her tears dripping onto his arm, soaking into the sheet.

When she was done, she took a deep breath and pulled herself together. She looked up at the monitor above his bed; watched the lines moving up and down across the small screen. She trusted they were right, that he really was alive beneath all that stillness.

Trust.

The word suddenly hit her full force, like a bullet to her brain. That's what he needed – her trust. She had given it to him, but did he know that?

Amy leaned down to his ear again, this time saying three little words that she hoped he would hear; _needed_ him to hear: "I trust you."

Mike softly cleared his throat and waited for her to turn around. He had been about to leave the bathroom when he heard her talking to Bobby. Instinctively sensing what she was saying was private, he had quietly closed the door and waited inside until he could no longer hear her voice. Now he was standing just outside the bathroom door, looking uncomfortable.

"I, uh," he gestured towards the hallway. "I, uh, need to be going now."

Amy wiped her eyes and stood.

"Could you help me, please," she asked. "I think I'd like to lie next to him. Would you help me slide him over a bit, please?"

Without a word, Mike crossed the room. Together, they gently moved Bobby's large body towards one side of the bed.

"Thank you," Amy said gratefully.

"Do you need me to stay?" Mike's brow furrowed as he studied her face; he was concerned about her.

"No. I'll be fine," she smiled.

"Are you sure?"

"It's okay. Thanks, Mike."

Mike nodded, and was gone.

Amy carefully lay down next to Bobby, tucking herself in under his shoulder and pulling his arm around her. She gently draped her arm across his broad chest. As his steady breathing comforted her, she began to relax and drifted off to sleep.

_ "Come back to me."_

_ "I need you."_

Amy's voice haunted his mind. It sounded as though she was at the end of a long tunnel, her voice floating to his ears in an echo-y, vibrating tone.

He was happy here. He had been resting on the bank of a river for several days now. The temperature was cool, the air crisp, the sun warm. He was tired, so very tired, and sleep came easily here. He had no cares, no worries, no needs, no nightmares.

His mother was here. She visited him every day, crossing the river to meet him in the mornings. Every evening, she would cross back over. The bridge she walked across was quaint and wooden, its strong beams whitewashed and crackled with age. She glowed and stood straight and proud, her head held high, her body strong and healthy. Her mind was sharp and clear, free from the troubles that had plagued her life on Earth.

They walked and talked along the riverbank every day, arm in arm, laughing and remembering. She apologized to him during their first walk. She was very sorry about never telling him the truth about his father, never talking about what "Uncle Mark" Brady had done to her, done to her family. Bobby apologized for not being there for her enough and for not pushing her to get better care, to see a therapist. They had hugged then, their hearts and minds calm and clear for the first time ever. From then on, they had laughed together and enjoyed remembering the good times.

The fringes of his mind recognized that this place wasn't real, that it was protective. He realized that his mother wasn't real either, not in a physical sense. Every evening they would pause together at the foot of the bridge.

"You can't cross, Bobby." His mother would smile at him gently as she spoke, love and pride shining in her eyes.

"You have to stay here. You have to rest." She would turn away from him then, cross the bridge and disappear on the other side.

Today's visit was different. Frances begged Bobby to tell her about Amy, Trey and Hudson. She listened attentively as he told her everything, reminding her that Amy was the one he had met in Germany and wanted to marry. He told her about Laura's death, meeting Amy again after 25 years, and his first encounter with his son. He regaled her with Hudson's exploits.

"Oh, you'd love them, Mom," he sighed.

"I happen to know Amy loves you very much," his mother said knowingly as she patted his hand. "I also know she calls to you every time she comes to see you."

Frances nodded when Bobby looked at her in shock. This sudden turn in the conversation had caught him off-guard.

"A mother knows these things, Robert," she admonished him gently.

"You do hear her, don't you?" Frances studied her son intently, waiting for his response.

Bobby nodded.

"Bobby, do you know why you are here?"

Bobby shook his head.

"What do you remember?"

"I remember running down the tunnel. We were trying to stop a bomber, but it was too late; the bomb was already set, and time was running out. He yelled at me to leave, and I started running away from the bomb. There was a loud explosion and something slammed into the back of me, knocking me to the ground. My head exploded in pain. I remember Amy holding me…crying…saying "I love you" over and over, but her voice was so faint. Then everything faded away and I woke up under that tree over there." He pointed to the very large oak tree, under whose branches he slept every night in the soft, cool grass.

"What is this place, anyway, Mom?"

"A place of healing," Frances answered. "A person can only stay here until their body is ready to have them back. Yours has been ready since this morning. You need to go back."

"I know." He had felt it when he woke up, but he also felt his soul needed one more visit with his mother before he could go back.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Why haven't you?"

They had been sitting on a small boat dock, dangling their feet in the river's clear, cool water. Now Bobby stood and began to pace the dock. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

"I want to go back, but…" his voice faded away and he stared out across the river.

Frances wisely stayed silent, waiting, and soon Bobby spoke again.

"I'm not sure Amy wants me back."

"Ah," Frances said. "She's been to see you at the hospital as much as possible. She professes her love to you and asks you to come back every time. What more do you want?"

What more did he want? He reached out to his mother and pulled her up to stand next to him. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and gestured for her to walk with him. They strolled quietly together through the cool grass as he gathered his thoughts.

"For her to hold on to me."

Frances looked at him quizzically. Although she already knew the whole story, Bobby needed to say the words out loud to help him heal emotionally.

"I gave myself to her completely twenty-five years ago, and she pushed me away when she found out she was pregnant. I need to know she's not going to keep pushing me away every time we grow close." Painfully, he recounted for her the wonderful, intimate weekend he and Amy had spent together and the bitter argument in the office afterward when she had done exactly that. Even worse, he told his mother, Amy had emphatically stated that she didn't trust him.

Frances's heart ached for her son.

"Why didn't you leave," Frances asked him softly. His body may be ready, but Frances knew her son needed to face this before his spirit could be ready.

"I didn't leave because I had promised her I wouldn't. But…." Bobby's voice trailed off as he began to hear Amy's voice filtering in from down river. Softly at first, but then it grew stronger, and he heard every heartfelt word of her confession.

He heard her admit to being jealous and her explanation why. As her words seeped into his ears and sunk into his mind, he felt his heart began to beat stronger.

He heard her apologize for yelling at him and he felt his skin began to tingle and come alive.

As Amy began to sob, Bobby felt her tears on his arm as raindrops began to fall softly from the clear blue sky.

Bobby looked at Frances. She appeared to be glowing even brighter than before.

He was about to ask her what was happening when he heard Amy saying how sorry she was for pushing him away yet again.

Amy's voice fell silent as she cried. Her tears still fell on his skin in the form of raindrops as Bobby took in all that was happening, and everything he was feeling. The scene around him was rapidly changing. His mother was now standing before him, her diminutive figure nearly blindingly brilliant. They were still standing on the grassy riverbank, but now the river was wider, its current flowing faster. The large oak tree was gone, replaced by a steep grassy hill. The bridge his mother crossed everyday was no longer a quaint wooden footbridge, but an imposing, monstrous stone structure with strong iron gates standing open.

_"I trust you."_

Those words, Amy's words, soared out of the sky, shot through his brain like an arrow and pierced his heart. Love and elation flowed through him like the mighty river by which he now stood.

"I have to go now, Bobby," his mother said. "And so do you."

Bobby looked at her, confusion on his face. As he watched his mom smiling at him, he began to realize what was happening. He was coming back to life. Amy had spoken the words he needed to hear, and he was coming back to life.

"Will I ever see you again," he asked his mother.

"When the time is right, you will cross this bridge and join me on the other side," she told him, gesturing as she spoke.

Frances stepped up to Bobby and wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him tightly and held him firmly.

"I am so proud of you. I never told you that, but I am."

Bobby hugged her tightly in return as her words warmed his heart and filled his eyes with tears.

Frances stepped back and looked at Bobby. "You have to go now. Take care of them."

He nodded.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Bobby. Now, go!" She pointed to the steep hill. "You belong up there now. You're ready. Amy's ready. Go on," she said encouragingly.

Bobby began to walk up the steep grassy hill. It wasn't easy. When he got to the top, he was tired and his legs hurt. He turned and looked back.

Bobby saw his mother walk through the iron gates and onto the massive stone bridge. He watched as she walked across, turned and blew him a kiss goodbye. The gates closed and the entire structure changed into glowing white marble. As the brilliance increased, it became harder to see, and Bobby raised his hand to shield his eyes. When he thought it could get no brighter, there was a blinding flash and everything went black.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

When Trey walked into Bobby's room, he had to smile; his mom was asleep in the bed, next to Bobby. He sighed and settled himself into the uncomfortable chair next to the bed, and watched them. His mind began to wander.

He thought back five days to the night of the gala. He had obeyed his mother's wishes and gone out the front of the theatre, while she had followed Alex Eames out the back. Mike Logan had helped him get the crowd's attention, and he had gotten them all interested in singing, but his heart hadn't been in it. He shuddered at the memory of the explosion….

The building shook as the ground rolled under his feet. The crowd on the street stopped singing and began to scream.

Trey panicked and turned back towards the building. "MOM!"

Mike grabbed him from behind and wrapped his arms around him as the noise grew.

"I have to…" Trey twisted in Mike's grasp. "Mike! Mom! Please!"

"I know, son. I know." Mike held tightly until Trey's thrashing subsided. Once the young man was calm, Mike spoke again, quietly.

"I know where they are; we'll walk around to the back and check on things, okay?"

Both men jumped as sirens roared to life down the street. Logan looked around and caught the eye of Jim Watson, who waved them over to his car.

"Come on," Logan said, grabbing Trey's arm and diving into the crowd. As Watson drove them around to the back of the building, all the other law enforcement personnel began to corral the crowd and secure the building.

Trey would never forget the site that greeted him in the back of the building. Captain Ross was on his walkie-talkie, trying to regain control of the chaos. Acrid smoke filled the alleyway and poured out of the loading bay; agents and officers were coughing, their faces covered with whatever pieces of cloth they could find. Amy and Alex were nowhere to be found. The wail of an ambulance could barely be heard in the distance, its volume slowly increasing as it neared the City Centre.

"Where's Detective Eames," Logan asked the nearest FBI Agent, a woman the MCS had worked with on several cases.

"She went back inside," the woman answered. "Mrs. Wainwright broke free from her and took off into the building before anyone could react. Eames and several agents followed her."

She noticed the looks on the men's faces. "You can't go in there," she admonished. "The passageway hasn't been secured yet."

"My father's in there," Trey stated vehemently. He watched, helplessly, as the ambulance pulled to a stop and several paramedics got out and began unloading gear.

"What do we have," the first one asked Ross.

"One, possibly two people injured. They may be trapped, I haven't heard back yet."

Ross's radio crackled to life and a woman's voice could be heard.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Detective; go ahead." He breathed a sigh of relief and held the radio out so the lead paramedic could hear as well.

"We found Bobby. The tunnel is fairly clear where we are, but beyond us is quite a mess."

"What about anyone else?"

It was quiet for a while, then Eames' voice came back, soft and somber. "We didn't find anyone else, Captain."

Ross sighed deeply then, and ran his hands over his face. "What else?"

"Bobby's down, Captain. He looks bad. We need some help in here, fast!"

Ross nodded and the paramedic crew took off running towards the door, gear in hand, stretcher in tow. "Help is on the way, Eames. Hang in there."

He heard a sobbing gasp and looked over his shoulder. Mike Logan and Trey Wainwright were standing close by; both men had stricken looks on their faces. Trey looked as though he could take off toward the building at any minute.

Ross moved to stand in front of the young man.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

Trey crumpled. Logan and Ross both reached out to grab him, and the three of them sank slowly to the ground.

"Give us some air, please," Ross commanded. A nearby agent gestured for the group to move away.

Once they were alone, Trey looked up and choked out, "What happened?"

"We found the suicide bomber and have him in custody. He's in a squad car out front. He told Logan there was only two hours on the bomb timer when they turned it on. When we found the bomb, we found Goren's nephew as well. There was no way to diffuse the bomb, so we had to clear the building. Goren insisted on staying behind to try to convince his nephew to leave the building with him. He flipped his mic to the "on" position and left it there. I heard everything. Donny pulled out a wire and the timer started running down faster. Last thing I heard was the sound of Goren's footsteps running away and his panting breath as he tried to out run the explosion. I'm so sorry."

It felt like an eternity before the paramedics came back out of the tunnel, pulling a stretcher, followed by two women and several agents. The agents and paramedics very carefully lowered the stretcher off the back of the loading dock and pushed it firmly into the waiting ambulance. Trey watched helplessly as his mother, her dress covered in blood and her eyes red from crying, climbed into the ambulance.

He had gotten a brief glimpse of his father. The man's body was covered in a sheet, except for his head, which was wrapped in blood-soaked gauze. There was a mask on his face and an oxygen tank between his legs. He looked dead.

Later, Trey found his mother in the hospital chapel, crying and praying. He felt helpless, until she encouraged him to pray with her. They held each other and cried after that.

He thought he would never forget the way Bobby looked after surgery. There were wires and tubes running all over the man's body, which suddenly looked very small lying there so still in the ICU. It would be four days before he could be moved from the ICU to a private room; they were some of the longest four days of Trey's life.

He was amazed at his mother's bravery through it all. She threw herself into making a watch schedule for Bobby; she was insistent that someone close to him was to be near the ICU at all times. After his move to a private room, the small band still maintained their vigilant schedule.

Trey was thankful for Dr. Andersen. Jack was his god father and had been Trey's surrogate dad all these years. "Dr. Jack" as Trey still addressed him, was patient and gentle in explaining everything that had happened to Bobby and interpreting the prognosis and treatment plan. Jack and Susan were frequently at the hospital, bringing food and drinks to the watchful group and lending their support.

Today was the fifth day following the explosion; Bobby was finally breathing strong enough on his own and the respirator had been removed early that morning. He was also down to only one IV line and a catheter. His mom had told him on the phone that morning that his latest brain scans looked fine; now only time would tell when he would wake up and join them once more.

Trey shifted in the chair, stretching his long arms over his head and extending his legs. Exhaling fully, he slumped over in the chair, propping his elbow on the arm of the chair and resting his head on his fist. He continued to watch his parents on the bed and began to fight sleepiness.

He thought he heard the faint crumple of a sheet and opened his eyes. His mom had moved slightly in her sleep. He shook his head and forced his eyes open, continuing to watch over them. If he had looked away, he might have missed it.

He sat forward. Had he dreamed it? He shook his head and looked harder. There it was again. He hadn't been dreaming.

Trey stood and moved over to the side of the bed. He looked down at Bobby and smiled.

His father's eyes were open slightly, and he was moving his lips as though his mouth was dry.

"Hey," Trey whispered.

He put his hand out to Bobby's mouth. "Shh. Don't talk."

Trey reached for a cup and poured a small amount of water in it. He stuck his fingers in the cup and dribbled some water on Bobby's lips.

"You've been on a respirator." He dribbled more water onto Bobby's lips and into his mouth.

"You've also got Mom asleep on your other arm," Trey chuckled softly.

That made Bobby smile slightly and his eyes light up. He gave Trey a sly glance, then took his left hand and placed it on top of Amy's and gave it a squeeze.

She moaned and mumbled in her sleep, shifting her body and causing Bobby to groan and grimace.

At the sound of his groan rumbling in her ear, Amy opened her eyes and looked up to find Trey standing over the bed and grinning like an idiot.

"What," she asked.

Bobby squeezed her hand again; Amy pushed herself up onto her elbow and found herself staring in to familiar brown eyes she was afraid she would never see again.

"You're awake," she whispered awestruck.

Bobby's eyes danced and sparkled in return and she carefully sat up farther, swinging her body around so that she was facing him and her legs were over the side of the bed. She touched her forehead to his and closed her eyes in relief. Tears of joy filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She sniffled and sat up.

"Trey, could you raise the head of the bed a little bit, please? Then, go get the nurse."

"Oh! The nurse!" Trey handed his mother the controller for the bed and bolted out the door.

Running down the hall, he arrived at the nurses desk breathless and panting, in spite of the short distance.

"Penelope," he gasped, causing the woman to look up with a start.

"He…he…he's awake," Trey managed to say.

"Who? —Oh!" Penelope jumped up from her chair and hurried back down the hall behind Trey.

They entered the room to find Bobby sitting up in bed, sipping water through a straw, a beaming Amy helping him with trembling hands.

"Well, well, well. Look who's finally decided to rejoin the land of the living," Penelope chided as she approached the bed. She looked at the IV then took Bobby's pulse, watching his face for any signs of distress. She used her stethoscope to listen to his breathing and counted his respirations.

"Has he said anything yet," Penelope asked Amy.

When she blushed, Penelope raised her eyebrows, then put her hands on her hips, pursed her lips and addressed Bobby in mock consternation. "Hitting on the ladies already? Oh, you ARE feeling better!"

At the sight of Amy's shocked and distressed face, Penelope laughed.

"Bobby's known around here as quite the flirt. Whether he's patient or visitor, he's always a hit with the ladies. Last time he was a patient, we all knew he was on the mend when he started in teasing and flirting with the nurses."

Penelope leaned over and whispered to Amy, "Don't worry; we all know he's yours now." She straightened up and smiled. "I'll go tell Dr. Wilson you're awake. Oh, and Mr. Wainwright," she turned to Trey, "Dr. Andersen wants you to call him, please. He left a message for you earlier."

Trey looked his parents over carefully. They were holding hands and gazing at each other. His mom was positively radiant, glowing more than he could ever remember, and she could barely take her eyes off Bobby. Bobby leaned his head back on the pillow and turned to look at Trey.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Hi, Bobby." Trey's voice was husky with emotion and he was afraid he would start crying. He had come so close to losing this man, his father, and now that he was awake, all the stress and emotions came welling up to the surface.

"I…I need to make a few phone calls," he stammered. "I'm….I, I, uh…I'll just be out in the hall," he gestured awkwardly and left the room.

Amy smoothed Bobby's brow with her free hand and caressed his cheek, loving the feel of him as he leaned into her palm.

"I can't believe you're back." Her voice was breathless and full of emotion. "I missed you so much."

Bobby took her hand and pressed a kiss into its palm.

"How….long?"

"Five days."

He raised his left hand and made a face at the IV stuck on his hand.

Amy chuckled. "I know; you hate having it there. It was the only place they could find a vein. You were so weak; you lost so much blood. I thought I was going to lose you." Amy's voice cracked with emotion and she turned her face away.

Bobby squeezed his eyes shut and felt his heart ache. He had caused her a lot of pain and sadness, and yet here she was, waiting for him.

"I'm sorry."

"Wha? Bobby, no! No. It's okay. Shhh…" She tried to console him as he started to sob. She wanted to hug him, but several of his ribs were cracked and she didn't want to hurt him. Instead, she took his face in her hands, placed her forehead to his, and whispered words of comfort.

Things were calmer and more subdued when Dr. Wilson arrived. He was very pleased to find Bobby awake and alert and sitting up in bed. He warned Amy that Bobby still had a long way to go, as there was no way to tell what the extent of any brain injury might be. He explained to them that there could be large and fine motor damage, and that Bobby would be evaluated by a physical therapist, an occupational therapist and a speech therapist, although, given how well Bobby had responded verbally to the doctor's questions, he didn't foresee much of a problem in that area.

Bobby's memory was another matter. Dr. Wilson patiently explained about short-term and long-term memory loss to Amy and Trey, answering all of their questions. When Amy asked about permanent amnesia, Dr. Wilson said it was too early to tell, and it would be best to take a wait and see approach to all aspects of Bobby's treatment and recovery.

"All in all," Dr. Wilson said before he left, "I think Mr. Goren is doing very well. I'll see you all tomorrow."

He nodded to Amy, shook hands with Trey, and left.

Bobby began to fidget, trying to push himself up in the bed and looking around the room.

"Bobby, you need to lay back," Amy admonished, gently pushing back on his shoulders.

"Phone," Bobby stated emphatically. "My phone….Eames…."

"Oh, my; good heavens, yes! Eames," Amy exclaimed. She quickly grabbed her purse and began to rummage through it, finally upending it on the foot of Bobby's bed.

"Here it is," she said, triumphantly brandishing the small device. "Do you want to talk to her?"

Bobby nodded. Amy flipped open the phone, pressed the speed dial for Eames's phone, and handed it to Bobby with a smile.

Alex Eames was irritated. Irritated beyond belief. Ever since Bobby had left to go "undercover" at Wainwright Industries, she had been saddled with just about every detective on the squad, serving as the "relief" officer for whoever was out of the office on vacation, sick leave or for court proceedings. The only time she wasn't, she was sitting at the hospital, watching over Bobby, or making a quick stop at home to shower and change. She was sick and tired of it and ready to scream.

The ringing of her cell phone startled her. It was the special ring Bobby had put on her phone just for him; it only played when his private phone called hers. She pulled it out of her purse and stared at it.

"Well, are you going to answer it or not?" Mike Logan's deep voice caused her to jump.

"Oh!" She flipped it open and prayed it hadn't gone to voice mail.

"Hello?"

"Eames?"

Her pulse began to race. The voice was weak, much weaker than usual, but there was no doubt it was his.

"Bobby?"

Logan looked up at her and the squad room fell quiet.

"Bobby? Is that you," she asked again as the squad room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

"Hi, Eames."

"Bobby!" Eames pulled the phone away and joyfully announced, "He's awake!"

Bobby could hear the cheers erupt in the squad room through the phone. He smiled feebly and waited for her to speak again.

"Bobby, how are you?"

"It hurts like hell."

"I'll bet it does," Alex laughed. "Can I speak to Amy, please?"

"Hi, Alex," Amy's voice, full of relief and excitement sounded in her ear a few moments later.

"How is he," Alex asked. She listened for a few minutes, smiling and asking questions. Finally she put the phone away and looked up.

The entire squad, including Captain Ross and others from all over the building, was crowded into the room, waiting for her to give them a report.

"Bobby woke up today." She smiled as a cheer went up.

"No visitors yet, although he does want to see you, Captain. Amy says he's speaking a few words, and the initial evaluation looks very promising. There are still lots of tests to be run and he's going to need rehab. They're taking it day by day still, but he's awake and alert."

Relieved and uplifted by the news, the group dispersed back to their desks and respective floors. Rodgers had been in a meeting in Ross's office, and she stopped to give Alex a hug on her way out. "Tell Goren I said hello and I'll be by to see him soon."

"I will. Thanks."

Ross gestured Eames toward his office. Once inside, he shut the door.

"I imagine you'll be wanting time off."

"Yes. Some. It's different this time."

Ross looked at her curiously.

"Well, he's not alone. He doesn't need me there all the time; he's got Amy and Trey to help him now."

"Does that bother you, Detective?"

Alex sat down in a chair and thought hard about the Captain's question. It was one that had been bothering her for the last several days. She had always been his "go-to" person; always been the one the doctors consulted, always been the one to sign the paperwork, always been by his side when he came to and always helped him recover.

"Not really….it just feels…different. You know?" She looked away, staring out the window.

"Like he doesn't need you," Ross asked her softly.

"I….uh…."

"Go."

Alex looked at him. "Sir?"

"Go," Ross said more firmly. "That's an order, Detective."

"Yes, sir!" Alex leapt from her chair and was gone.

Seems everyone is in for a lot of change, Ross mused.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

A week later, Ross, Logan and Eames were gathered in Bobby's room at the hospital. He had been moved to a larger, private room on the rehab floor. It was more of a suite, really, with a sofa and two side chairs, as well as a table and chairs where he and his visitors could sit and eat.

Trey and Amy were there as well, as Logan and Eames had wrapped up their investigation of Matthew Richardsen and were ready to present their report.

Bobby was dressed in pajamas and sitting in a large overstuffed recliner that Amy had brought in special for him. He was flipping through the file and listening to Eames and Logan.

"Ten years ago," Logan was saying, "the North Harlem Women's Shelter applied for a grant from the Wainwright Foundation. They were denied. The Foundation's money went to a shelter on Staten Island, an after-school art program for low-income special needs children in Queens, a gallery for homeless veterans in Lower Manhattan and a new burn unit for a children's hospital on Long Island."

"I remember that," Amy gasped. "The selection committee felt that the shelter already had plenty of support and the ability to receive funding from other sources. The Staten Island shelter was brand new and the Foundation felt that helping a new shelter in an area that had none was a better use of their grant monies." Stunned, she sat back on the sofa as Eames took up the narrative.

"Three months after being denied the funds which would have beefed-up security at the shelter, Topper Harlow broke down the front door in a drunken rage looking for his wife and 10 year old son. He found them in a small storage room in the back of the building. Harlow yanked his son out, screamed obscenities at his wife and shot her multiple times in front of the kid. He grabbed the boy and went out the back door as the police came through the front. He threw the gun down a storm drain several blocks away. After calming the boy down and buying him ice cream, Harlow took him home. There, he was subjected to his father's nightly drunkenness, verbal abuse and extreme neglect. The boy's grandmother tried the best she could over the next 6 years to take care of him, but she was very ill, and died two days after Matthew's sixteenth birthday. That night, after Harlow passed out, Matthew packed a backpack and tote bag, left the small apartment, and never looked back.

"Now, he is 20 and very angry. He knew the shelter had applied for a grant and that it had been denied. One night, shortly before his father killed his mother in the storage room, he had broken into the shelter's office and found the application. He told us the name on it would burn in his memory forever: The Wainwright Foundation. He memorized the address and promised his mom that he would go there in person and try to talk to them and get them to change their mind. After his mother's cruel death, he swore he would get revenge on the Foundation."

Amy gasped. "You mean … all … that," she waved her hands as she spoke, "was because we didn't give money to a homeless shelter?"

"It seems so," Alex answered. "Matthew told us during questioning that he felt the Foundation had chosen a rich, white place over a poor, black place, and that was why his mother had died. He blames the Foundation for her death, and has been carrying that grudge for ten years."

"What happened to Harlow," Bobby asked. "There's not much in here…oh, wait, here it is. 'Topper Harlow was discovered to have died in October of 2005 from an apparent drug overdose.' Were charges ever brought against him?"

"No," Logan said. "Richardsen never went to the police. No evidence had been found back then, and now that he's dead, there's no reason to pursue it."

Bobby finished flipping through the file and handed it to Ross. "Nice work."

"You deserve part of the credit, Detective," Ross stated. "Passing on the information from Donny was crucial."

"What happens to Matthew now," Bobby asked next.

"His crimes are felonies, Bobby," Eames reminded him. "He's in federal custody, but we were allowed to do the initial interrogation. His willingness to tell everything will work in his favor."

"Who's the prosecutor?"

"Serena Stephens."

"I know her; she's good but fair," Bobby said.

Bobby's eyes became filled with worry. He rubbed his hands over his face, took a deep breath and spoke hesitantly.

"A…a…and…D-d-donny?"

"I'm sorry, Bobby." Alex's sad brown eyes filled with tears as she answered him.

Bobby's eyes clouded with incomprehension at her words. Amy left the sofa and kneeled next to his chair, putting her hands on his knees, waiting. Bobby looked wide-eyed from her to Eames and back to her as understanding began to creep in. His eyes widened, then filled with tears and a sob escaped his lips.

"Noooo…." Amy rose up and pressed her forehead to his, caressing the back of his neck as he began to cry. He pulled her close to him as Alex crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. She never could stand to see him like this.

Mike crossed the small sitting area, and gently touched Alex on the shoulder. She looked at him, and he gestured towards the door. She gave him a small nod, then turned to Trey and raised her eyebrows at him. He quickly got the message and moved to stand near his mom and Bobby.

"Mom," he spoke gently.

She turned her head.

"We," he gestured to Mike and Alex, "are going to leave you two alone for now. Okay?"

She nodded and he squeezed her shoulder before leaving the room. Eames and Logan followed him.

"Will you be alright, Detective?" Danny Ross's voice was full of concern for the man; he knew what it was like to lose family; the loss hurt deeply.

Bobby looked at his captain and nodded through his tears.

Ross retrieved a box of tissues from over near the bed, placing them on the floor next to Amy before he, too, squeezed her shoulder. He squeezed Goren's then was gone, leaving them alone in their grief.

When the door closed behind the last of them, Bobby sobbed audibly again, pulling Amy onto his lap and into his arms. He buried his face in her shoulder and cried.

A few days later, Amy found her father and Bobby locking horns over a chess board. They were sitting at the small table in Bobby's room. Both were leaning forward on their forearms, brows furrowed, silently studying the layout of black and white pieces on the board before them.

Amy smiled. "Hey, you two," she sang out.

Bobby waved her off as he stared at the board, waiting for AJ to make his move.

Amy wandered over and put her hands on her father's shoulders and kissed the top of his head. When she moved around to Bobby's side, he surprised her by whipping his arm out and pulling her in for a lingering kiss.

"Wow," Amy breathed after he finally released her. "What was that for?"

"Everything. Taking care of me, this room, that awesome recliner. Which we have to take home with us, by the way." He was gesturing widely as he spoke, and Amy was so glad to see the sparkle returning to his eyes. She kissed him on the cheek.

"Checkmate," AJ said as he made his move.

"What," Bobby exclaimed, pushing Amy away as he re-focused his attention to the chessboard on the table.

"Dad whooping your ass," Amy asked with a chuckle.

Bobby turned and looked sharply at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Don't look at me that way," Amy scolded. "I'm not as pure as you think I am," she teased. She deftly dodged his playful attempt to swat her arm and danced away, laughing.

AJ started to snicker, then laugh. Soon, Bobby smiled and joined in.

"Well, I see you're doing much better these days." A deep voice spoke from the doorway.

"Jack! Good to see you," Bobby said, pushing back his chair and standing to greet the new arrival.

"AJ," Dr. Jack Andersen acknowledged the older man with a handshake, then opened his arms for Amy's hug.

"Jack! How wonderful to see you," Amy exclaimed, as Jack wrapped her in a warm hug.

"Bobby, you seem to be making huge improvements," Jack observed. "Hospital grapevine has it that you'll be leaving us soon."

"Disappointed," Bobby asked with a smile.

"Not in the least! I'm always happy to escort patients out the front door."

"Jack, you know that you and Susan must come by for dinner sometime soon. It's the least I can do for all the help and support you've given us these last several weeks," Amy said.

"I'll have Susan call you today," Jack promised her as his pager began to beep.

He glanced at it quickly. "Oh, dear. Seems I'm needed on the fifth floor. Probably Mrs. Peterson; I think she has a crush on me," he told them conspiratorially. He waved and called good-bye over his shoulder as he left.

After Jack left, Amy began to move anxiously about the room, touching things, rearranging the items on the nightstand, smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of the bed sheets. AJ recognized her mood; she always got like this when she was worried and nervous. He instinctively sensed it was about Bobby's impending discharge and knew they needed to talk privately. He cleared his throat.

"I guess I'll be going now," AJ said as he stood up. He patted his breast pocket, then his pants pockets and looked around the table. "Should I take this with me, or do you want to try to beat me again tomorrow," he asked Bobby.

"I think you should take it with you," Bobby answered. He began to put the pieces into a plastic baggie; AJ folded up the board then turned to Amy.

"Well, I'll see you later at the house then. Okay?"

"Sure, Daddy," Amy said distractedly.

Now he was certain she was nervous and worried; upset, too. She only called him "Daddy" when she was getting "torn up inside" as she liked to describe this mood. He pulled her to him and hugged her tight. "It will be alright," he whispered into her ear. "I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy," she whispered back, clutching him desperately and drawing strength from him.

AJ shook hands with Bobby and gathered up the chess game. "See you later, Bobby."

"Bye, AJ."

After her father had left, Amy continued to pace about the room. Bobby watched her, trying to figure out what was going on inside of her. What had her so anxious and nervous?

Finally, he could stand it no more. He walked over and put his hands over hers.

"Stop it," he commanded softly.

Amy looked down at their hands. His larger ones completely enfolded hers; they felt safe and warm and secure and it scared her to death.

"Amy?" Bobby tilted his head to one side and leaned over until his eyes met hers. He was concerned by what he saw in their murky depths. Instead of trying to draw her head up by holding her gaze, a tactic he used quite successfully on the job, Bobby sighed, put an arm around her shoulders and gently led her over to the couch. He slowly sat down, easing her onto the cushion next to him. He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"What's wrong, Amy," he asked softly.

"I'm scared."

"Oh?"

She shrugged.

He waited. After giving her a few moments, he gently took her hands in his again and squeezed them gently. "Amy, look at me."

Amy continued to stare at her lap.

"Amy," Bobby said more forcefully.

Slowly she raised her face to his. Her eyes were red-rimmed and teary, as though she were about to cry. He studied them carefully; there was a lot of emotion in those big blue eyes. They were grey, deep grey, indicating there was a battle going on between her head and her heart. Anger, hurt, worry, nervousness, concern and fear; he noticed them all. Looking deeper, he thought he also saw relief, and that gave him hope.

"I'm scared, Bobby." Her voice was almost inaudible. "What if…."

"I'm here, Amy. Talk to me."

"You almost….."

"Almost what, Amy? Tell me." He knew this was hard for her, but she needed to say it if life was going to get any easier for her. He'd already been through this with Dr. Olivet; she had graciously come to check on him after he learned of Donny's death, and had been there for several hours, helping him talk things through and sort out his feelings. Now Amy needed to do the same thing.

"Tell me what you remember," Bobby urged her gently.

She looked up at him. His warm brown eyes met hers; his face was kind. There was no trace of pity, only compassion. Compassion and something else; she continued to look into his eyes as she thought. Understanding; that was it. He understood. Bobby understood the storm of conflict that was currently raging inside her. She had told him she trusted him; now she needed to prove it.

"It's hard, Bobby."

"I know. Dr. Olivet came to check on me last week. She stayed all afternoon, helping me sort through my memories and my emotions. It was very helpful for me. Let me help you now. Please?"

She nodded, took a deep breath and went for it.

"I'm scared I'll lose you again."

Bobby waited; he could tell there was more.

"I don't want to go through that again." Her voice began to get stronger and more emotional.

"Why?"

"It's too much! I couldn't bear it!"

Bobby squeezed her hands tightly in encouragement. "Go on."

"Eames…Alex….she….I followed her out the back and we met these men. Captain Ross was there. They pulled us over to the sidewalk, around the corner. They said we'd be safe. And then….then the earth rolled under my feet and there was this loud noise, and I heard screaming. It may have been me. And Alex was holding me, and some man I don't even know was helping her. And I started to sink to the ground as the door blew open and all this smoke came pouring out of the building and the windows were rattling and glass was falling all around us. And then I was free and I was running and calling for you and you wouldn't answer. You wouldn't answer me, Bobby!" Amy jerked her hands free and grabbed his arms.

"I couldn't find you. There was so much smoke and it was dark and I could hardly hear and then, there you were, right there, on the ground in front of me. And you were so still and I held you and rocked you and spoke to you. You tried to whisper, I think, I'm not sure. And there was blood. So much blood Bobby. Was it yours? And I held you and called your name, over and over and over and you wouldn't answer me and your eyes were so far away, like you weren't there and you started to feel cold. So cold. And I said, 'I love you, I love you,' over and over and you wouldn't answer me."

Her voice had gotten stronger and more emotional as she spoke; Bobby knew this was a good thing for her. He may not like what she was saying, but he continued gently encouraging her to keep talking.

"Why didn't you answer me, Bobby?" She looked up at him. "Why? Why? Why did you do this to me, Bobby? Why did you have to go all hero-like off into that tunnel anyway, huh? Why couldn't you have left that up to the FBI?"

She was really on a roll now; her anger at him had taken over. He braced himself for what was to come, what he knew she needed to say.

"But, noo-ooo-oo! Mr. Best Detective in the World had to stay behind in that tunnel by himself, trying to stop the bomb, trying to be all Big Shot and save the world. Well guess what, Mr. Big Shot? You didn't! You didn't save the world; you nearly got yourself KILLED is what you did! Scared me to death! Seeing you lying there like that, fading away from me in my arms while I held you and begged…BEGGED you not to leave me; to hang on; to make it." She was really yelling at him now and Bobby was afraid one of the nurses would come storming in to see what all the commotion was about.

"How could you do this to me," Amy screamed. She started pummeling his chest with her fists, and even though it hurt like hell, Bobby let her. She needed this. He bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain as Amy sobbed and railed against him.

"How did that make you feel about me?" He hated having to ask her, he knew what the right answer would be. Could Amy give it and allow herself to begin to recover from the emotional trauma she had been through.

"I hate you," she screamed at the top of her voice. "I….HAA-AAA-AAATE YOU!" Amy's whole body shook as she channeled all her pent up anger towards him. "I hate you Bobby Goren!" Her voice began to soften as the tears and sobs overtook her. "I hate you," she hiccupped, then sniffed. "Why did you do this to me? Why? Why? Why?" She leaned towards him and he took her in his arms, pulling her head down to his shoulder, and held her until she had no more tears.

Finally, emotionally exhausted and spent, Amy slowly raised her head and looked at Bobby.

"Feel better?" His voice was filled with love and concern.

"I'm sorry."

"No! Don't be," Bobby admonished, pushing her hair back with his hands and cradling her face in his palms. "You needed this," he stated firmly.

"Look at me." He gently shook her face to get her to look at him again.

"I'm the one who's sorry. I had to push you, make you angry, get you to go there again, to let it all out. I'm also sorry about the gala. Sorry that I supported your decision to go forward with it anyway. Sorry that I allowed it to become a trap for Matthew and Donny. Sorry that I put you and our family and friends in danger. Sorry that you ever had to be a part of something so awful. I'm not sorry I went down into that tunnel, though."

"You're not?"

"No. It's…it's…." he struggled for just the right explanation for her. "It's who I am, Amy. I'm a cop, a detective. I figure things out and then I go out and stop them from happening, or try to, and then I arrest the guys who did it. Sometimes I come in after something bad has happened, and I can't stop thinking about it and studying it until I put all the pieces together and bring the perp to jail. It's a puzzle. Eames calls them that; my puzzles. I can't stop until I have all the pieces in front of me, and then I keep going until I put them all together just right."

"You'd do it again, wouldn't you," Amy stated.

"Yes."

"I love you," she said tenderly.

"I know."

"You do?"

Bobby nodded.

"I trust you," Amy told him next, making his heart soar.

"I know that, too."

"You do?" Amy was stunned. "You heard that?"

"I heard every word," Bobby assured her. "I knew when you came in the room every day, and I knew when you left. I could….sense…your presence. And hear you. I could hear all of you, but it was far away, in the distance."

"What was it like, Bobby," she asked softly.

Bobby shifted on the sofa so that he was in the corner. He pulled her into him and held her gently, reveling in the warmth of her nearness, delighting in her touch, her trust, her love. "It was wonderful," he sighed.

"Would you tell me about it? Please?"

Bobby spent the rest of the morning recalling his "time away", describing everything and patiently answering all her questions.

A soft knock on the door the next morning brought Bobby's head out of his newspaper. He was sitting up on his bed with several papers scattered around him on the bed.

"Come in," he called.

Trey's head peaked around the door. "Good morning, Bobby."

"Hey!" This was a nice surprise, as he had been expecting an aide with his usual hospital breakfast of lumpy oatmeal and scrambled egg substitute.

Trey came in the door, balancing Bobby's breakfast tray and a cardboard carrier with two large steaming cups of coffee in it. He carefully placed them on the wheeled hospital tray table and deftly steered the table over to the bed, pushing it so the tray hung out over the bed. He pushed the button and adjusted the height, then sat on bed on the opposite side.

Bobby had scooped up his papers and put them on the bed side table. Now he was eyeing his son suspiciously. "Just what are you up to young man," he questioned in his best interrogation voice.

"I've brought you a surprise," Trey said, glancing toward the door to make sure none of the nurses was lurking in the doorway.

Trey removed the cover over the plate and the most amazing aroma hit Bobby's nose.

"No," he exclaimed in disbelief as he inhaled deeply.

"Yes," Trey stated proudly.

There was a pile of steaming, foil-wrapped cylinders on the plate and a spicy aroma assaulting Bobby's senses and making his mouth water.

"Rosita," he asked as he picked up one of the cylinders and began to unwrap it.

"Yep. She sends her regards; so do Pedro, Rene, Jesus, Juanita, Evita, and Rafael," Trey said laughing.

Bobby had taken Trey to his favorite breakfast spot in Brooklyn several months ago, and now Trey was a regular, loving the authentic Mexican style breakfast burritos that Rosita and her family prepared from scratch every morning.

"Oh, my god, these are so good," Bobby exclaimed between mouthfuls. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Trey smiled as he enjoyed his own burrito.

"Coffee's great, too," Bobby commented as he took a sip. "Who did you have to bribe to pull this off?"

"No one; I waited until Penelope went into a room at the other end of the hall, snooped around in the breakfast cart, found your tray and took it. The breakfast you were supposed to eat is in the trash can of the men's room next door. It helps that you're at the far end of the floor from the nurses' desk, too."

"I could have you arrested for that, you know," Bobby chuckled as he took another burrito off the plate.

"You wouldn't dare," Trey retorted smugly. "Mom would string you up by your toenails and you'd never hear the end of it," he chuckled.

"Don't I know it," Bobby responded with chuckles of his own.

Another knock on the door a few moments later had both men jumping guiltily. When Dr. Wilson came through the door, the two men sitting on the bed sighed in relief. Then they started to giggle.

"What's going on in here," Dr. Wilson asked with mock sternness. He walked over to the bed and shook hands with each of the men. "Smells great."

"We have plenty. You want one," Trey asked, indicating the remaining few burritos.

"What are they," Dr. Wilson asked as he picked one up.

"Mexican breakfast burritos," Bobby said, sipping his coffee. "Eggs, chorizo, queso blanco; good stuff."

"Oh, wow," Dr. Wilson commented between mouthfuls. "Where did you get these? My wife would love it if I brought these home to her after an emergency call!"

Trey pulled a folded take-out menu from under the plate and handed it to him. Dr. Wilson stuck it into his pocket. "These are going to make one hell of a peace offering!"

They all laughed.

After he had finished eating, Dr. Wilson turned his attention to the real reason he had stopped in: Bobby's condition and impending discharge.

"How would you like to go home today," he asked Bobby.

"I'd like that very much."

"I've been over your chart at length the last several days. Physical therapy says you're doing wonderfully and you will continue to improve as long as you promise to keep using the treadmill every day and attend twice weekly outpatient therapy sessions for another six to eight weeks." He paused to look up from the chart.

Bobby nodded and indicated he should continue.

"As far as I can tell, there are no residual effects from the blow to the back of your head, although I don't want you doing any running or jumping, no contact sports, that sort of thing for another six months or so."

"That's not a problem," Bobby assured him.

"Mom will take good care of him," Trey joked. "Between her and Grandma, Bobby won't be able to so much as sneeze without them being right there, fussing over him."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Your mom worries too much."

"Somebody needs to," Trey retorted softly.

Bobby narrowed his eyes at Trey, but said nothing; he knew in his heart Trey was right. He did need fussing over and worrying about and watching out for; he could think of no better person for the job than Amy.

"Well, I think that takes care of everything, then," Dr. Wilson said. "I'll just go finish writing up your chart and the ward secretary will get started on your discharge papers." He glanced at his watch. "You should be able to get out of here in a few hours; maybe even in time for lunch."

"Thank you, Dr. Wilson. For everything," Bobby stated sincerely as he shook the doctor's hand. He was convinced this man had saved his life and given him a second chance, one he would take seriously.

After the doctor had left, Trey looked around the room. "You gonna miss this place?"

"Not a chance," Bobby stated.

They both laughed.

Later that afternoon, Bobby was alone in his apartment at Trey's. Christmas was only 2 days away and he hadn't gotten anyone anything. Amy had reassured him that his being out of the hospital was present enough, but Bobby wasn't satisfied. He and Trey had stopped at an electronics store after leaving the hospital and Bobby was now surfing the web on a brand-new laptop computer, trying to find just the right presents for everyone.

AJ had been easy; he loved history books as much as Bobby had, and their many evenings together discussing books and sipping whiskey in the library made that decision an easy one. Trey had already put Bobby's name on a present for Hudson; Amy had been buying presents all year long, so Bobby simply paid her back for the large remote control police car, complete with lights and sirens. He usually got Eames a small gift every year, in spite of her protests; she was always there for him, and a small present at Christmas and her birthday seemed only appropriate in Bobby's mind. Patty would love the cookbook he had spotted in a store window a week before the accident. She loved Italy and Italian cuisine and he felt this particular book would be perfect for her. The store had gift-wrapped it for him; all he had to do was put a gift tag on it.

Trey and Amy would be the hardest ones to shop for. He had a present in mind for Amy; had been thinking about it for quite some time, in fact, but now wasn't sure he could pull it off in time. He checked his watch; Gerald should still be at the store; he should call and see how quickly what he wanted could be done.

Using the phone was a fine motor skill and his were the slowest to return. Bobby had been surprised at how quickly he'd been able to move his legs to walk; he just needed to build up his strength and endurance. The lack of damage to his speech and hearing were not surprising, given the location of impact to the back of his head. His memory and recall were improving every day, and his vision was completely unharmed, much to the surprise and amazement of everyone. It was the nearly complete loss of finemotor function that stunned and surprised them. Writing, eating, turning a page, using the phone, tying his shoes; the list was endless. All were things he had done day in and day out, as automatically as breathing. Now, even pulling up his underwear was a challenge as his fingers still struggled to firmly grasp the fabric.

He sighed as he stared at his cell phone. Trey had gotten him the largest touch-screen phone on the market; he even offered to help Bobby program it for voice commands, but Bobby insisted that he needed to use his fingers. It's the only way to get better, he argued. Trey had to agree.

Now, he stared at the phone where it sat on the table. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated hard, forcing himself to relax and allow the movements to come naturally. Success! He smiled as he held the phone in his hand. Carefully, he touched the screen, and exhaled deeply as the line began to ring on the other end.

"Gerald! Robert Goren, here. Listen man, I need a big favor…"

Two days later, it was Christmas Day. Bobby and Amy were seated on the sofa in Patty and AJ's living room. Trey and Hudson were on the floor by the tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and presents. Patty was in her usual wing chair, a pile of packages at her feet, a neat stack of presents on the table next to her. Much to Hudson's delight, she had several brightly colored bows stuck on top of her head. AJ captured it all on video, stopping only at Trey's insistence to hand over the camera and open his own presents.

As Bobby had predicted, his carefully thought out presents were well-received. He was touched when AJ asked him to sign and date the book on WWII battles. Patty's exclamations of delight over her new cookbook thrilled him. Hudson's screams of delight over the police car brought him joy. Trey loved the brown leather binder Bobby presented him; he had admired Bobby's andcommented wistfully about wanting one for himself. That Bobby had remembered and gotten him one of his own, was special.

Bobby had been showered with gifts as well. As he clumsily fumbled with the wrapping paper, he had laughed and smiled had a great time.

Now, he put his arm around Amy's shoulder and pulled her close.

"I have something for you," he said. "Do you want it now, or later in private?"

"Bobby, you didn't have to get me anything. Having you out of the hospital and back here with us is present enough," she said softly.

"I know. But, I had been thinking about this for quite a while." He pressed a kiss into her hair.

"Can I have it now, please," Amy asked with child-like enthusiasm.

Bobby reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out long, thin package.

Amy stared at it in wonder as he placed it on her lap.

"What is that Mom," Trey asked.

"I don't know; Bobby just gave it to me." She carefully removed the red wrapping paper to reveal a velvet jewelry box. Opening the lid, she gasped. Nestled inside was a bracelet. It was a gold serpentine chain with a set of alternating diamonds and colored stones in the middle. Three of the stones were each a different color and all the stones looked to be about a half-carat apiece. Amy looked at him teary-eyed.

Bobby reached over and removed the bracelet from the box. Patty gasped as it sparkled in the light and everyone watched as Bobby placed it on Amy's wrist. He held her hand and spoke softly, caressing the bracelet and her wrist. "The three colored stones are birthstones. The emerald is May for Trey, the garnet is December for Hudson –"

"ME!" Everyone laughed when Hudson squealed at hearing his name and smiled indulgently at the toddler.

Bobby turned back to Amy. "The peridot is August, for me," he stammered.

Amy looked up at him her eyes were filled with her love for him shimmering through her tears. "And the diamonds are for me," she breathed. "It's beautiful. I love it, Bobby. And I love you." She pressed her lips to his, and he felt all the love she had for him in that tender touch. It took his breath away. When she pulled away, she laughed self-consciously and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't get you anything." She turned her head away.

"Yes, you did, Amy," Bobby said, reaching out to turn her face back. "You did get me a present. You gave me the best present of all: a home with a family in it."

He kissed her deeply.


End file.
